Kingdom
by Targaryen Muse
Summary: Set after 'The Final Gate', ignores canon from thereon. House Jaelre finds itself on the edge of destruction as a new Myth Drannor sets out to 'purify' their forest -their only hope is in Vhaeraun's dream, the dream of a kingdom.
1. Raising the Red Road

**A/N** I don't own anything copyrighted or of Wizards, like House Jaelre, Cormanthyr, any recognizable characters (though I've taken liberties with them), or the drow. I do own the original characters in this story. This story is a direct sequel to _The Final Gate_, Book III of the Last Mythal trilogy. It focuses on the Vhaeraunites in the forests of the Old Elven Court. I'm ignoring the events in the _Lady Penitent _series, they're just wrong. The following is info on the recent events and House Jaelre, pulled from other sources except for the third bit, which is common knowledge.

_The largest group of drow on the surface is the followers of House Jaelre. The leaders of this group have established smaller, finite goals for themselves. Rather than having a disorganized plan to take over the world or destroy all its enemies, House Jaelre plans to take over old elven settlements (particularly the old Elven Court in Cormanthor), study the mythals and remnants of elven high magic, and find a way to tune these powerful wards to not only keep out enemies from the surface, but to repel any enemy drow who might try to take their prize from them. To distract people from its activities in the Elven Court, House Jaelre executes precise and small-scale raids upon parts of the Dales…_

_22 Eleasias, 1374: The crusading army of __Evermeet__ combined with the forces of __Sembia__ and the __Dalelands__ defeat the __Fey'ri__ legion (and their Jaelre allies), and retake the city of __Myth Drannor__ in the name of the Elves. _

_The Old Elven Court and Myth Drannor are both in the new lands of Cormanthyr. One is populated by drow, the other by faeries. The inevitable will occur. _

**Chapter One **_Raising the Red Road_

Even the songbirds quieted at his approach, as if they knew the assassin wanted utter silence to be his herald. The small, feathered creatures were used to his kind, even the shadowy magic that he wielded, yet every time he took the dark road the blue birds were mute, the sun shone dimmer through the hundred foot tall shadowtops, and the golden patterns inlaid in the copper bark drew seemed to draw back into itself, retreating. Of course, most of that took place in his imagination. The assassin knew that his magic was nowhere near powerful enough to cloak the forest in that kind of stupor, nor was he so inherently terrible that life itself became greyer when he passed.

And why should he want that anyway? Compared to the blighted Night Below, the vibrancy of the Night Above –though it was currently day –was a refreshing, welcome exchange. More beautiful, even, then the old cities of his people. The assassin had visited three or four of them, and while exotic and wondrous, he found himself longing for his home every time he was in those tight corridors, surrounded by others who reminded him with their very existence that his trade, prized here on the surface even by the others of his kind, was one every single dark elf dabbled in down there. It was their nature.

Yet it seemed that nature did protest to him being there, just a little, as if there was something _wrong_ with the image of him walking through the winding shadowtop forest of the Old Elven Court, something _ungodly_. The assassin failed to care. Tall, lithe, almost overly slim, he walked the narrow, winding dirt road like any other elf. The road would lead him nowhere, unless he knew exactly where to turn. He did turn at the right place, exactly, his utterly plain, fitted black outfit blending into the shadows along with his dark form. The way was permanently ingrained into his memory; he knew every single blade of grass on the shadow path.

So it was understandable that his black lips would part slightly in surprise when a series of red bricks greeted him in the middle of the secret way.

The dark elf's magma colored eyes narrowed as he considered the bricks. They were arrayed in a pattern to form the start of a road, it seemed. The bricks appeared to be freshly cut, almost perfectly, as if sorcery was involved instead of mundane bricklaying. There were seventeen in total, no significant number. The greater question was, who would lay the bricks? Certainly not-

"Well met, knight of the night." The assassin turned, but even as one of his gloved hands dropped to the cruelly enchanted, vile sword at his hips, he stopped the motion, for the voice was no enemy. He appraised the dark elf in his gold embroidered black robes, leaning slightly on a shadowtop staff shot through with greenwood, scarlet eyes gazing laughingly at the assassin. The mage's mouth was twisted into a grinning slice, pleased at surprising the skilled assassin.

"Valk," said the assassin in his courteous, melodic voice. No doubt the mage was cloaked in shadow magic, courtesy of the dark goddess he paid some homage to –an experiment, really, but the assassin wasn't privy to the details. Even if he had been a noble drow, able to detect magic whenever he passed, the assassin was unsure whether he could have detected the elusive Valk. He gestured to the staff. "Not carrying your usual arms, Auzkovyn."

"I felt that something else was necessary for this task, Malaka," he responded, nodding towards the bricks. Malaka merely waited for an answer, wavy white hair stirring slightly in an enjoyable breeze. "Oh, _ask_. I know you're curious, assassin. I saw you stop."

"I don't have much time; I need to make this journey quickly. Truly."

"Truly? If you really want to know, while you've been gone, my patrons have been meeting with yours." A more sober tone interjected itself into Valk's voice. "Ever since the faeries have been coming back in hordes and droves," the dark elf spat, "we all feel that we can do so much more on a united front. The red road you see before you is the manifestation of that new front."

"You want to make it clear to everyone exactly where House Jaelre's fortress is located?"

"It isn't visible to everyone, only those who have the patronage and blessing of Vhaeraun." Valk grinned, and Malaka felt like something was being left out. "The ones who can summon the forces of magic, of course. The road won't extend all the way, of course. There are mages working on it on your end as well… Belarbreeza, I think, is in charge. In fact, she's done by now, I think. We just need some tests to be run. The road will extend a little into the forest, and those of us blessed with the Masked Lord's divine favor and with the power to warp the natural with magic…" Valk's smile became wider. "Let's just say, teleportation is outdated. And an entirely new for of ambush is born."

Malaka wasn't exactly sure what the implications were, but he made a note to talk with Belarbreeza about it, though the female wizard was irritated as of late –probably because of the injuries she sustained trying to unravel a mythal. "Night be with you," he said, inclining his head.

"You said you had something urgent to do, did you?"

"I never said that," Malaka said delicately, dispassionately. _I only hinted at it_.

"Let us try the road, then!" Valk's eyes gleamed with excitement, but again, there was something else. "I'll send you on to House Jaelre, with no effort at all. You can still cast, can't you?"

"Powers akin to a mage, not a cleric. Or thaumaturge," he said, nodding respectfully to the robed drow, who indeed did possess a grasp of the divine and the arcane both. "It is the true way of the assassin, to learn some of these wizardly powers."

Valk waved it off. "That matters not," he said. "You can still use it. What say I show you how to operate it? This is better than any portal, Malaka. It is indeed a road, a red road, yet inside it our Masked Lord has complete and utter power. We can lure armies onto this road and destroy them at our leisure. We can whirl you off to House Jaelre in minutes. We can even call upon the energy of the road to augment our own powers." Valk was growing more and more excited every minute. "Come, assassin. I'll show you how to work it."

"I've already wasted enough time talking," Malaka said. Unspoken, he knew that he would fight this the moment he reached House Jaelre. Allowing other dark elves, of another clan, to create a path to their door was not a wise thing to do, even if they had some control over it. And though the Auzkovyn were drow akin to the Jaelre, they were not the Jaelre, and Malaka did not trust them as much as some. Night knew what would happen if Valk threw him into that road, wherever it was. He suspected that it was those who carried out the Masked Lord's will who had power over the road, not the Masked Lord himself. Scrutinizing Valk, he wondered if those that served his own unnamed goddess didn't have some power either.

"I will go with you, assassin," said Valk in exasperation. "I have no grudge against you, nothing will happen. You have to understand, this sort of magic is something that was not possible until recently, with, ah, new powers that we've tapped." _Undoubtedly the supposed 'shadow magic'. _"Belarbreeza researches high magic every day, but that was of the past. This is the future."

"You just admitted it, this is experimental. I make it a point not to jump into the experiments of wizards."

"You will be walking for half a day. Even if you are faster than that, it will still be night when you arrive. I can have you at House Jaelre in heartbeats. Nothing will go wrong. And _if_ something unexpected occurs, like I said, the Masked Lord can watch the road." Can_ watch, not _is watching_. There's a difference_. "You have done things far more risky in your time, Malaka."

"Do it. Before I change my mind. And you first. The first thing happens I don't like and I'll prove my sword savors drow blood as much as it does faerie." The assassin sighed. He must be going crazy. A hundred years of assassinations would do that do an elf. Even as he made the statement, Malaka drew upon his wells of power and prepared himself to poison Valk with a touch, turn perfectly invisible, and teleport himself. Just in case. They were both, after all, drow.

"Stand with me, on the bricks." Malaka gingerly stepped up, red dust swirling around his high, soft black boots and discoloring the dull leather. _Oh, that will take some scrubbing_, he groaned mentally. The mage closed his eyes and began whispering, while Malaka kept his eyes on the mage and began praying. He hated experiments. He had seen what they did to people. Again, he wondered idly whether he was insane or not.

The Masked Lord's hand must have been guiding him though, because in an instant, they were off the platform and standing in a featureless plain of black and white, with a grey sky overhead. There was no life whatsoever, which unsettled the assassin in a terrible, deep way. Curious, considering his profession, but he did need life to continue his trade. And no one liked to be alone.

Which is why Valk was here, grinning broadly. His staff, a weapon of nature, was missing, but the rest of him had made it. "Look down," he said. The assassin did, and started slightly. He was standing on a dull road the color of blood, terribly wide and grand in appearance. Looking forward, the rest of the road came into view. A _complete_ road, he amended, narrower than the square they stood on now. It was the only color in this place –looking at Valk, the drow had lost all color in his eyes, robes, and trinkets. Even his skin and hair seemed to lack some of the luster they had, seeming darker and blander. The caster turned and studied Malaka. "Night below, you don't look any different. You, my friend, need help picking out your outfits."

Malaka only peeled his lips back into a smile, a small thrill rushing through his spine. "How do we get to House Jaelre?"

"Follow to red brick road, of course," said Valk. "But whatever you do, do _not_ step off. Either you will exit this place violently and die horribly in the manner of leaving, or you will not, in which case all you have to do is step back on. But I wouldn't chance it." Valk winked. "Shall we?"

Malaka considered their surroundings warily, the realization that this was not Faerun dawning on him quickly. "What _is_ this place?"

"A fragment of a whole, Malaka, merely a fragment. Imagine what I can do once I hold all the pieces." Valk smiled wistfully and set off in a determined walk, Malaka falling in behind him, brooding about exactly what the whole was. Within three or four minutes of silence and walking hard, the two reached another square of brick like the one they had started on. As they stepped on, Valk turned to Malaka. "Go ahead and leave this place. You bring us out."

"How? You're _not_ about to let me operate experimental magic. That's like giving a male child a snake headed whip."

"Easy. The incantation can be recited in prayer or arcane format. Just repeat after me, and make sure you whisper. Wouldn't want to wake anything up with a booming spell, would you?" Valk laughed. Malaka's eyes widened.

"I don't have a booming voice," he said absently, wondering what there was to wake up. Nothing alive, and nothing good, that was for certain. He said each word after Valk in his customary murmur.

"Concentrate! Take us to House Jaelre, from this place. Picture it." An image of the citadel, surrounded by green leaves and copper trunks, a great black castle unchallenged by anyone, popped into Malaka's mind. Every little detail, like the twelve strutting towers that popped up from the ziggurat of the main keep, the spiked ramparts that protected it, the steel and wood bridges that connected the lesser towers and the twelve major ones, the red and black glow emanating from the inside, the onyx gargoyles peppering the entire castle, the sweeping arches that marked the gates…it was all there. And suddenly, the two drow were there to.

Valk gave a happy laugh. "The first test!" he said, cackling. "The magic works!" He plopped down in front of the leering arches of the gate and spread his arms to the heavens, laughing. Malaka looked at the Auzkovyn strangely, and found that the drow guardsmen were all leveling weapons at them, longbows and crossbows tipped with deadly poisons for sure. Two or three mages were also half in the shadows, undoubtedly poised to strike. A tall, lissome female with hair flowing the small of her back strode towards them, black and olive robes swishing.

"You _idiot_ Auzkovyn!" she said, eyes bulging. "Have you _lost_ your _mind_?"

"Females shouldn't talk like that," said Valk, a loopy grin on his face. "Especially not to one of _the_ most powerful male casters in this _forest_. Ha!" He snapped his fingers in her face.

She slapped him lightly. "Gender won't matter when Jezz hears of this, it was completely unsanctioned. The Jaelre do _not_ approve." She noticed Malaka in the shadows of a tree and rounded on him. "You. I can't believe you went along with this. You must have lost your mind, Malaka! I thought you were a _responsible_ member of this House!"

"Apologies, Bela," he said, though what he wanted to say was 'Actually, I'm just a commoner'. He supposed he should be pleased that he was treated with as much respect as some of the nobles. Belarbreeza stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the assassin. He knew that males weren't automatically inferior to females, but standing before her, Malaka knew that he _did_ respect Bela…and her judgements. "I've been wondering the same thing, if you must know. I'll accept your punishments, but I have grim news first for us all."

She lost the hard front. "No matter now about the road. Ah…was it successful?" A little excitement came into her tone, and she grew a slightly embarrassed. Malaka just pointed at the giggling Valk. She smiled faintly. "That shadowman was right. This _is_ useful magic. Perhaps I can use it to master higher spells…"

"Shadowman? _I'm_ the only shadowman allowed in Jaelre," said Malaka, ruffled. He stepped off the brick hurriedly and walked over the Bela, the urgency that brought him here redefined, crossing the arched threshold and walking under the gargoyles.

"What's the news?" she said.

"Come. I'll explain it when you get your three co-leaders with you so I don't have to make all of you cry at separate times. Jezz and Nurkinyan are probably in their war room, right?" She nodded, and he went on with a side question. "What shadowman?" He dropped his voice. "And why wasn't _I_ consulted before all this dealing with the _other_ drow? I may not be one of the Four, but I believed that I carried some power in this House."

"You don't understand, Malaka. You've been away on your tasks for far too long. We've been hit hard by this influx of faeries, faeries that are undoing all that we've worked for. We are at a record low for converts from the elven population here. The Auzkovyn feel it too. Working together and pooling all our forces is what we need to _survive_. The shadowman too, we need him. The divinations I've cast reveal little about him, but it may have to do with all the uproar in Evereska about those flying citadels. He discussed…alternate sources of magic for us, since Mystra is such an opposing deity to our own Masked Lord."

"I heard rumors that there were one or two casters that could call upon a source of shadowy magic, and that Valk was among them, but I never knew what it meant."

"To be honest, neither do I, though I plan to learn this shadow magic starting now." A hunger came into her eyes. "Perhaps, deciphering the secrets of high magic with this shadow sorcery, I can merge the two…to have…_such power_…" She walked in silence for a while, dreaming of the possibilities. Malak took a moment to admire the interior of House Jaelre, set with plush red carpet on the floor, beautiful tapestries on so much of the smooth walls, unlit torches lining the halls. The passed inscribed wooden doors and statues of ebony and alabaster, all of them (like the tapestries) depicting Vhaeraun in his victory over the rest of the Seldarine, Dark and Light. Some of them, though, were merely images of masks.

"So…tell me of this _other_ shadowman. He can't have been anywhere near as dark, charming, and dangerous as I, could he?" The corners of his lips turned upwards as he regarded Bela.

She laughed him off. "A more dangerous and charming male I've never met than that shadowman, and he was so dark the shadows _peeled_ off his skin."

"Bastard! I must meet him and introduce him to Hound," muttered Malaka, touching the hilt of his sword. The short blade had a pommel shaped like a gaping demonic dog's maw, hence the name.

"He introduced us to his magic, taught a few some basics, and left with the promise of more, once we straighten out a few details."

"Details?"

"A deal. He wants a deal for this information." The pair turned to a huge double door set, onyx veined with ivory, flanked by two masked drow guards in studded leathers and each carrying twin short swords, one black and one ivory. "Night be with you," Malaka said out of habit, pausing and scrutinizing one of them. "Jeyrr? Is that _you_ wearing the mask?"

The guard puffed out his chest a little in pride. "It is, Master," he said. "I graduated recently. The shadows were willing."

"And they put you on some of the most important guard shifts," murmured Malaka. "I have been gone a long time, indeed. Well _done_. Tebryn knows what he's doing with you, Jeyrr. Shadows embrace you."

Jeyrr took out a small gem from a pocket. "Forgive me, Master, but I have to do this as part of my duties." He paused, waiting for his response over Bela's. The male drow, even those raised on the surface, were weaned on the tales of female barbarism in Lolthite cities, and did not easily forget, even if the female in question was one of the leaders of the House.

"By all means, Jeyrr," said Malaka, looking to Bela in deference. She nodded. Malaka gave her the respect she deserved from her considerable prowess, nothing to do with gender. The fact that she was a beautiful female Matron in a society where a male could actively court females also weighed into his decisions around her, and so far, it seemed to be working.

The guard peered through the gem, which would ascertain their true natures, preventing anyone in disguise from entering the war room. "Clear!" announced Jeyrr with a knowing grin at his former instructor. Jeyrr was slightly nervous, it seemed, but the Master assassin of House Jaelre made a lot of people nervous –he was a hard instructor, and twice as deadly as Tebryn, a Patron of the House, in charge of defense, was. The whispers said that Malaka could take Tebryn's job, but that was never to be. Tebryn had a far more military mind, and Malaka was too much of a useful tool in the shadows _outside_ Jaelre realms.

They entered the huge, circular room. Thirteen statues of the Masked Lord lit in faerie fire, all alabaster, surrounded a round table on a shining onyx floor, again veined, but this time with white gold. The walls were adamantine, Malaka knew, imported from the Underdark and enchanted on the surface. A huge map of Cormanthor made up the top of the table, while the ceiling was a map of all Faerun, of which portions could be enlarged and shrunken for more detailed viewing, by mages and priests of course.

A drow, white hair short and spiky, with a leg brace dressed in studded leather robes turned to face the new arrivals, the snake wrapped about his left arm hissing, and the black kukris on his hips absorbing the faerie fire glow. Malaka bowed from the waist to him. "Lord Jezz Jaelre," he said in his soft tones. The assassin held Jezz in highest respect –even with his injury, the drow had survived and thrived, and furthered the Cause more than any other Patron ever had. Even if he hadn't been a cripple while doing all this, it would have been impressive. The other drow in the room turned to face him and Bela as well, a well built figure in black leathers over gleaming silver chainmail, a longsword and short sword on his weapons belt, and a light crossbow as well. The two males bowed to each other.

"Lord Tebryn."

"Master Malaka." Tebryn was cool and collected. He had always ignored the rumors that Malaka was aiming for him, even though if he had been Tebryn would be dead faster than he could blink. Yet he was never friendly with the assassin, though he always taught Malaka's classes when the assassin was out on a task for Vhaeraun.

"The Night darkens," said Malaka as he and Bela walked towards the war table.

"Yet the shadows hold a sign of hope," said Bela. She gave her news first, explaining about the successful, if unauthorized test. When she was done, Malaka couldn't help but interjecting.

"This is madness!" he hissed unhappily. "Providing a way for others to come right to out doorstep! And who knows what the Auzkovyn are doing on their end to gain an advantage over us?"

"No more than we are doing to them, and possibly less. They have no central force like a castle, just settlements and villages," Jezz said.

"Exactly. They may be planning to take this castle for themselves."

"Then they will die," interjected Tebryn. "Bela?"

The female's full lips curved upwards. "I've put in my own version of a protection spell on our end. It's no mythal, and inactive as of yet. The only reason you could come through was because it wasn't active. The spell, which is being developed along with Nurkinyan, should be able to detect exactly what is coming through, and close the gates on our end if we need to. Additional protections are also being made, offensive in nature. Some of Tzirik's research is being used." Tzirik had been a far more capable cleric than Nurkinyan, but he was dead now, in service to his deity. In fact, it seemed House Jaelre had lost many of its more experienced members recently.

Malaka hissed uncomfortably, knowing he had lost this battle. "It just seems…unlike us as drow to do this." He shrugged. "I have worse news that we should be worrying about, but we should likely call Nurkinyan before I explain."

Bela cast a spell, summoning the head cleric of House Jaelre mentally, and not long afterwards, a tall, thin drow with a mop of unruly hair and a pocked face entered, dressed in a loose shirt, tight breeches, and wearing a short sword on his belt. Of course, all the apparel was jet black and made of shining silk. He looked at Malaka in surprise. "You're back."

"Miss me?" the assassin said humorously. The two had once hated each other, because they had an argument about who their god favored more, but they had been younger and more prideful back then. Vhaeraun had since shown them that he saw them all as equal brothers, and since, they each held a healthy respect for each other and their respective professions. Besides, as Nurkinyan was the _real_ leader of the House, to whom everyone reported to, Malaka figured it was a good thing they were not at odds, or else he might find himself having accidents and mishaps, most likely all fatal.

The Patron of House Jaelre –_the_ Patron, walked towards the others, all of them saying the proper greeting and formalities when dealing with an elder and more respected dark elf. "You had urgent summons?" he said, taking his place around the war table.

Malaka glanced at each of his leaders, and moved around to a part of the map that said 'Myth Drannor'. He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes and rolling back his head, and let it all out in staccato bursts.

"The fey'ri have lost Myth Drannor and are all dead. Our agents are killed to the last as well, save myself. Myth Drannor has been restored to its former glory. A Coronal has been picked, a female. The empire of Cormanthyr is reborn. The 'Army of Myth Drannor', as strong as the Crusade was or stronger, is on the march. They are coming here, my lords and lady, they are coming."


	2. Introduce a Little Anarchy

** Thazienne** –Thanks for the positive words; I hope I can keep this story going. It might a long haul; the rise of a kingdom, especially _this_ one, is going to take some effort.

**Lady Fellshot** – I'm glad that I'm not alone out here in trying to make something out of the aftermath of the Last Mythal trilogy (I've just started reading your _Twilight Rising_ but I'll ogle over that in a review once I finish). Going back, I do see the typos you mentioned, and a few sentences that could use better wording. Thanks for pointing those out to me; I'll try to improve in the future. I'm glad you like Malaka, because I've had no success with drow assassins in the past. Here's to hoping Malaka fares better than them.

**A/N **Chapter title named the same as a song from the Dark Knight soundtrack.

**Chapter Two **_Introduce a Little Anarchy_

Malaka emerged out of the shadows without as much as a cough to announce his presence to the other assassins. One heartbeat he wasn't there. The next, he simply was. The three other House assassins immediately detected him as soon as he wished to be detected, spinning around to face him. "Master," they murmured, inclining their heads and stepping back from him, allowing Malaka to move about freely in the small wooden cubby. It wasn't exactly the war room, but Malaka felt more at home here. Besides, at the moment, the Four were making it a war zone, bickering and arguing about a course of action –the assassin had slipped out unnoticed. However cramped the square assassin's headquarters were, the walls made up for lack of space with the quantity of quality tools. A pale globe of light hanging from the ceiling illuminated walls full of specific weapons for specific tasks –daggers, short swords, longswords, karra blades, scalpels, stars, darts, needles, festering bombs, and many more creative items.

The built in shelves were also fully stocked with various vials and jugs full of substances of every color and form, substances like centipede extract, scorpion poison, spider venom, bebilith juice, devilseye, lifebane, balor's bile, vilestar, bitch's brew, sufferfume, Urthaynk, mist of Nourn, fugu juice, nishita, and amber unlyns. Every one of the four assassins in the room was intimately familiar with all these poisons, even subjecting themselves to small doses to build up a resistance. Each poison was different –different ones could be coated onto a blade, slipped into a drink, disguised as perfumes, applied as something as innocent as a massage oil…the art of assassination was complex and beautifully intricate.

"Night be with you," said Malaka, facing his three subordinates. There was no place to sit, and leaning against the walls could prove fatal, so all four drow stood. The Master of assassins took a moment to survey his three remaining assassins, all clad in unadorned black. There was Ti'rak Jaelre, a long haired cousin of Jezz who had taken the mask as well as apprenticing himself to Malaka. Then there was the blue eyed, black haired Adenal Cadab, a pale moon elf convert to Vhaeraun's way and wholly devoted to the reunification of the elves. Lastly, copper haired and scarlet eyed Sheeranya Lan'tollet, a young female drow who wore studded leather armor, and wielded two swords as well as one; she was a refugee from Maerymidra, cast out, for she could not summon any form of spellcasting whatsoever, which reduced her station greatly in the Lolthian clergy.

Apprentices. Young elves. No true assassins, these, but House Jaelre had devoted it's proud, few, and best to the last stand against the Crusade, and they had been lost under the power of those warriors –the elven paladin captain, Fflar Starbrow, had slain two of them. And a deadly female archer, who turned out to be Coronal Ilsevele, had shot another one through the heart. Malaka had barely avoided the same fate, but swore vengeance against those two. Only problem was, if there were two better protected people than the Coronal and her consort, he did not know them. Which generally meant that said people were _alive_, somewhere.

Malaka wrenched himself from his thoughts. "Well," he said to his disciples. "I pray Tebryn has put you through the most rigorous of tests while I was away."

"Of course," said Sheeranya, smiling. An obvious lie; Tebryn was no true assassin, and though he had some idea of how to train other killers, the art that Malaka mastered and taught was not something the Patron could perform, let alone teach.

"Did we stop them?" demanded Ti'rak eagerly. Adenal looked uncomfortable; 'them' was his kinfolk, in a sense.

"No," said Malaka curtly, driving them all back on their heels. The Master rarely failed at any task, and this was big. "The faeries…they took Myth Drannor. Our agents and other assassins are in Vhaeraun's hands now. And the fey'ri were exterminated like the abominations they were." The assassins shared nervous glances, reeling at the blow to House Jaelre. They remained silent, though, in the presence of Malaka. After a moment of silent respect for the dead, and allowing his apprentices to understand, the Master went on. "I've just given the news to our lords and lady, but there's more. The elves have managed to draw many of their kin to them, kin that do not appreciate our presence. In fact, they have a rather disturbing blind hatred towards us. Uncomprehending bastards don't understand that what we _want_ is life on the surface." Malaka's flaming eyes intensified. "They're creating an army, an 'Army of Myth Drannor' to complete their new Cormanthyrian Empire. When completed, that force will be enough to wipe us out. All of us. Already, the advance guard and vanguard march."

"We…shouldn't we do something?" Ti'rak was thrown off guard, eagerness sliding off his face like slime off a ghauadaun.

Malaka laughed humorlessly. "It takes a while to make a decision when you have four patrons," he explained. "As of yet, no course of action has been reached. In fact, I don't think anyone has even been notified as of yet, to prevent panic. Once our leaders come up with a plan, we will implement it."

"So why are you telling us?" the faerie said, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. Malaka made note of that.

"Because I don't believe in sitting on our asses waiting," he said. "I might not be a leader, a decision maker, a mover and shaker, but I still have jurisdiction," he waved his hand to encompass the room, "over you three, and all of this." Realization began to dawn on their faces, and Sheeranya gave a happy little laugh.

"We're going out?" she said, hands on the hilts of her swords.

"We're going out," Malaka confirmed. Ti'rak's eyes blazed with fury at the faeries, and the eagerness returned. The noble clenched his hands into fists, ready for war. Adenal was silent, brooding. "We're going out, but not as far as you think. I'm not sending you on a mission of vengeance, I'm not sending you to strike at the heart of the elves." Ti'rak began a protest, and Malaka reached over and slapped him with the back of his hand. "Stop being a hotblooded fool, noble boy," he said violently, lowering his gloved hand. "I just finished losing every assassin I knew to that sort of work, and explained it to you as well."

"Where are we going?" he mumbled, chastened, though hate still glimmered in his eyes. Some of that was undoubtedly reserved for his teacher. It was a comforting reminder that they were still dark elves, something to separate them from the high elves that advanced on them now.

"You're going to Auzkovyn lands, in stealth. Make sure no elves see you. I suspect scouts are already moving towards our positions," said Malaka. "I want you to get the word out to our beloved cousins. Stroke them into a fire, get them ready for war."

"You want to strengthen them? The Auzkovyn that you've repeatedly told us you don't trust?" Adenal seemed skeptical of the drow's motives.

"No, I want to weaken them. If they hear of this now, quickly, some will flee, but some will rush to battle, if you whisper to the right people. That's why I'm sending you; I trust you can find the right people and whisper the right whispers. They will strike in ambush format, like raiders, and both they and the faeries will take losses. We benefit greatly. I want you to find the most hotheaded leaders and speak with them, the most rooted, adamant surface drow, the ones who refuse to go under again to the Night Below. Convince the majority, and the rest of the Auzkovyn will follow them into battle. Make all the promises of Jaelre support you need."

"We're aiding them…while weakening them?" Adenal really had much to learn about drow politics.

"I never said I was going to _keep_ the promises," Malaka said incredulously. "I said _make_ the promises. The Auzkovyn will see through most of them, but that sort of flattery often evokes a response. And eventually, Jaelre _will_ move to support their Auzkovyn cousins, and together we can remove the elven threat. We just need time to refine our newer weapon before acting." Malaka thought of the red road, and magic of the shadow. "I'd suggest getting some rest. The action hasn't been authorized, but I doubt it won't be. I'll propose the idea tomorrow, and you'll head out immediately." He paused. "Why are you still here?"

The drow filed out of the room's only door, but when the faerie tried to leave, Malaka caught him by the arm. "You're staying here, Adenal," he said courteously but firmly.

Adenal tightened. "I'm twice as good with the blade as Ti'rak," he said. "And I'm just as stealthy as Sheer. You yourself said I was becoming a good assassin."

"I don't need an assassin-"

"You said yourself you need someone with stealth-"

"Never interrupt me, Adenal. As I was saying, I don't need assassins right now. If I wanted someone with stealth that could really incite the Auzkovyn, I'd ask Tebryn to go, or do it myself, but we both have other tasks. No, I just need heralds to pass unseen into drow lands and make an alert, to which your compatriots are perfectly suited to do."

"But not me."

"What do you think will happen if I send a faerie to warn drow of a faerie attack?" Adenal was silent, but the logic was hitting him hard. "Besides, I need at least one assassin still in House Jaelre."

"You're going?"

"Not to Auzkovyn."

"Then where?"

"I'll tell you when I know for sure. In any case, I want you to help with the defenses. Use an assassin's eye to secure all possible areas where elven spies may come in. You're needed here. Trust me." In truth, Malaka had already done what he had just instructed Adenal to do.

"I could be an infiltrator. I could go into Myth Drannor, with the red road I'd be there in just a few days, maybe less."

"You're needed _here_," stressed Malaka. "Vhaeraun casts a shadow for all of us, and your shadow falls upon this House. _Mine_ is near Myth Drannor, not yours. Fear not; House Jaelre has all angles covered, even if they don't know it yet. I wonder if the Four have actually come to any conclusions yet…"

"I thought you said you didn't know where you're going."

"I didn't say that. I just said I didn't know where I was going _for sure_. Aside from that, you're right. You can enter Myth Drannor, and likely will at one point. But I cannot. There are…other things I can do near there, though." Malaka let go of his student before he could respond. "Go. Shadows embrace you."

Adenal took a moment to appraise his master. "And you, Master," he said, leaving.

Malaka remained where he was long after his disciples had left. It wasn't true, what he had said to Adenal. Most of it. The reason he kept the faerie here was because he simply didn't trust him. He was, after all, still a faerie, and the army that was advancing on them was comprised mostly of faeries. With his knowledge of House Jaelre and their works, Malaka wanted to make sure that the elf didn't leave the compound until the faeries were rebuffed. But he couldn't kill him, not with the sudden shortage of assassins they had now. And there was always the possibility that he was loyal. Malaka laughed ironically to himself as he fingered a silver vial of liquid pain. The _last_ possibility that occurred to him was that Adenal might be loyal. "The joys of my kind," he whispered to the liquid pain, which gurgled in agony in response.

He had no idea how much time he spent in the assassin's cubby. All Malaka remembered was staring into the depths of that silver agony he held, reliving one of the worst days of his life. The frantic charge of the ground forces issuing from Myth Drannor, aerial bombardment from the demons and fey'ri dropping spells and darkness to cloud the silver armor of elves, taking his assassins out to the side and waiting in the shadows of the bushes while Sarya's minions screamed at him to move, waiting tensely as the vrocks and demons teleported in amongst the shining Crusade, gliding like a shadow towards a group of confused and separated elves besieged by demons, wetting Hound for the first time that day, fading back, striking again, fading, striking. It was an endless cycle; Malaka did not know how long they had performed it. He just remembered that one time as they faded, they were short one. Then they were short another. Soon, they were caught by a central force of elves, who were crushing the faerie along with _golden ghosts swept the field, an army of the sanctified dead, a golden evil sent directly by the Seldarine to sweep away the entrenched daemonfey. Malaka's vision blurred, and he fell back even as a blue bastard sword gleaming with white fire cut Jylann in two right in front of him. The helmed elf didn't see him as he turned to face another enemy, one more obvious than the drow in the shadows, shouting, "Ilsevele! For Myth Drannor, and Seiveril Miritar! Ilsevele, this way!"_

"_Captain Melruth, we are winning!"_

"_Melruth! Melruth with Keryvian!" The cheer was raised by a standard bearer. _

_Malaka fell to the corners of the field, near the treeline, another shadow easing up to him. "We have lost," gasped Xolshin. _

"_We have lost," confirmed Malaka. "Come. There is nothing to be done here anymore."_

"_Nothing but to _kill_ the bastard who slew Rilraena!" hissed the shadow, glaring daggers at the captain with the blue sword. "My wife's death will not go unavenged!" _

"_No, it won't. I'm sorry for Rilraena, but he took Jylann too. He is too powerful," said Malaka softly. "Now is not the time when we can strike. We must move."_

"_No. I refuse, Master Malaka."_

"_Xolshin-" Malaka reached out to grab the other elf's arm, but Xolshin pushed him away. A second later, an arrow hissed through the space he would have occupied if Xolshin hadn't struck out at him. Malaka twisted to see a female archer pointing and shouting at them across the field of battle, near the walls of Myth Drannor. They were at the edge of the forest, yet she could still see them! Xolshin screamed and charged to the battle, and a golden bolt took him through the heart. His body toppled down and rolled in the dust, silent, with Rilraena now. Malaka nearly screamed in rage himself, yet his senses took hold. There was only one thing to do, and that was_

"I have to go back," the assassin murmured. The liquid pain hissed at him. "No, I have to go back." Delicately, he set the drug back on its rack.

"Back to Myth Drannor?" said a female voice. He spun to find Bela standing in the small doorway, leaning against the frame. She looked tired, and her robes were loose and opened. It had been a long day, obviously.

"You look terrible," he said softly.

"And being in a room full of a thousand things and more that can kill me if I breathe isn't helping," she said with a wan smile. "Come." Malaka walked with her, closing and trapping the door first, until they went outside and stood on a parapet. The two drow looked out over a vast forest of beauty, birds and animals always in the shadows, tree cover extending far into the clouds, providing darkness in the Old Elven Court. It was breathtaking, and no one appreciated more than elves. Even dark elves.

"Have you decided on action?" asked Malaka.

"Can you forget for a moment about that?"

"No."

Bela sighed. "Neither can I. It's eating all of us alive. Nurkinyan will make a speech to prepare for the march of this army, maybe in an hour. We…we don't know what to do. Obviously, the Auzkovyn have to be contacted. They will prove to be our greatest allies. _Even_ if our Master Assassin doesn't trust them."

"It's not like I'm singling them out because their drow. I don't trust anyone. Besides, I've already taken care of the problem of contacting them." Bela turned, eyes narrowed and flashing angrily.

"What have you done? You didn't tell _Valk,_ did you? Sweet shadows, say no…"

Malaka laughed. "Why do you hate him so?"

"The arrogant pig needs to die a painful death, that's all I'll say." With any other race, that was just an expression. With the drow, she _meant_ it. "Answer! Did you tell him?"

Malaka teased her with a grin, but it lost the fun as the subject matter hit him over the head again with the seriousness of the situation. "No, I didn't tell Valk," he said. "I think sending out Ti'rak and Sheer to deliver the proper words with the proper people will have a better effect. I'll ask for an audience tomorrow and propose the idea, though I've already informed them of what they will be asked to do."

Bela deflated. "Good. Great. Some action." She sighed. "More than our esteemed ruling council of Four can come up with. That's sad." Bela looked back out over the forest. "Fifteen thousand drow. I thought it was a large number. That's how many surface dwelling Vhaeraunites we have, Auzkovyn and Jaelre combined. Yet it pales in comparison to…say it again, I'm not sure I believed you the first time."

"Twenty four thousand. A generous estimate. And I think the number will grow as they move, faeries are flocking to Corman_thyr_ like hunters to a bounty. We'll face at last thirty thousand, I fear."

"Thirty thousand. Thirty thousand disciplined, strong, fighting shape elves and their mages and their celestial allies and their brutish human pets…against fifteen thousand dark elven, not counting the huge number that will flee, mostly sneaks and assassins, many of which have never worn _armor_ in their entire lives, let alone seen _longswords_ and _pikes_ and _twin-headed dire flails…_"

"If I see a twin-headed dire flail coming at me, I'm running," confirmed Malaka seriously.

"Yes, but you'd run in a circle, come up behind the wielder, and kill him with that wondrously nasty blade of yours."

"True," allowed Malaka.

"What do you think, Malaka? How can we stand up to such a force? They have such serious devotion, single minded goals, these faerie elves. How do we win against such order?"

Malaka considered it for a moment, thought about Myth Drannor, thought about his desire to return, and then the corners of his lips curved up slightly.

"Introduce a little anarchy."


	3. Predator

**Chapter Three **_Predator_

The time of the drow was the night, yet that silver globe hanging in sky irritated the Hells out of Malaka as he stood in the canopy of the shadowtops, mostly because if he was caught in a beam of it's power, the faeries would see him as clear as day. The light itself was not a bother; born and raised on the surface, Malaka had become accustomed to it easily, as most Jaelre drow were. In fact, they often led raids during the daytime to confuse their enemies –because everyone knew that drow only attacked at night, scary evil little ugly twisted demonic monsters that they were. Malaka smiled at the thought. Well, this was one time where he could oblige the stereotype. Ducking into the shadows of the boughs, the dark elf stared at his right hand, gloved, which was resting on some of the black vials strapped to his belt. Under the glove, on his fourth finger, was the blue crystal ring Bela had given him. It had two more teleportation spells on it, not very powerful, but good enough to get him back to the red road once he was done with his chaos and fun. Malaka's own teleportation spells were nowhere near as powerful as these though; his were made for combat, a situation he hoped to avoid.

The assassin sighed and moved through the treetops silently and invisibly. And they said that _faeries_ were the masters of the sylvan glade. He had yet to see a _faerie_ navigate hundred foot tall centennial trees like he did. Or a _faerie_ that could pass without breaking a branch or blend in with the shadows under the thicker leaves. The wind whistled pleasantly along the treetops, rustling the leaves, giving plenty of cover to the stealthy drow. He may not have been a ranger of the forest, a sylvan hunter, or a master tracker, but first and foremost he was a predator, and a predator knew how to stalk. Slim and supple, Malaka twisted under a heavy branch and crossed to the next shadowtop flawlessly.

Bela had warned him against using his magic if he wanted to remain undetected; the elves could have wards up that sensed such things. Hence, the teleport spell only placed him a few miles away from where Malaka had extrapolated the army was, and it was a faint, weak spell at that. It looked like he was wrong about the position of the forces though. They were a lot slower than he had thought. Lightskins usually were, even elves. Though a normal elf would have been mostly blind looking under him, Malaka's innate drow sight gave him a clear view of the forest floor. Occasionally, he descended to check on any elven scouts or sentries. It was a dangerous game he played –they were excellent at concealment, these faeries, he'd give them that much, and better and observation. Malaka just had to trust that he was superior to them in both senses. And why wouldn't he be? He was drow, and they were just elves.

He proceeded in silence for shadows-knew long; yet on a casual glance down, he saw something that didn't quite fit with what he knew of this part of Cormanthor. Cormanthyr, he amended to himself, grimacing. The bark on the tree next to him was bulging slightly in one spot, a spot around five and a half feet tall. And over there, by the tree opposite that one, the underbrush seemed just a little too flat in one thicket. A stick, curving gracefully, lay nearby in the shadows. A black bow –damn. The Black Archer might have been called in one this one, the god devoted solely to the destruction of the drow. That god was trouble; he had even destroyed cities and slain countless drow in the Underdark. Not even the greatest wizards and most powerful warriors could hold him back once he started on the warpath.

Glancing down cautiously, Malaka saw nothing else out of place, but was wary of it all the same. If he missed a sentry, they could sound the alarm, ruining his stealth, and engage him in actual melee combat, which could be bad. Malaka was a brilliant assassin, but swordplay was most certainly not his strength, though he could certainly fight, after a fashion. But the dark elf saw nothing else. Switching back to the normal spectrum of vision, Malaka glanced around once more just in case he saw some strange color out of place, and switched back to the colorless Underdark sight. The way he saw it, he could easily pass undetected –he was in a _tree_, shadows' sake –or he could kill them both and risk detection, death, and the fall of House Jaelre and everything Vhaeraun had worked so hard and shed so much blood for. Sighing, Malaka made the obvious choice.

The assassin slipped into the tree above the bark sentry, one hand on Hound's hilt just in case the elf happened to look up. For some reason, sentries never did. The branches were especially numerous on this tree, which would provide shadow and camouflage for the sentry if a ground force was advancing, but for an attack from above he was obvious and bare. It was like he was begging for it. Malaka smiled as he reached for Hound. It was a hunter's smile. A predator's smile.

And then he realized exactly how stupid he was when an arrow whistled out from the next tree, aiming for him. Only by twisting back did he avoid being struck through the jugular. Unfortunately, he lost his balance –this one, freakish time, _why_? he groaned to himself –and barely avoided shattering his skull on the forest floor by catching himself on a thick branch. They _did_ have sentries in the trees after all. Malaka cursed, faced with three or more enemies. Bark-sentry was still only just becoming aware of his presence. So Malaka jumped onto the trunk and rolled towards him, a black dagger slick with something bad appearing in his hand. The sentry didn't have time to scream before Malaka was on top of him (literally). The drow rolled to his feet on the forest floor, holding the dagger. The guard's skin was quickly withering away to leave only patches and remnants covering his body, courtesy of the bebilith venom it was oiled in.

The cloaked sentry with the bow, lying in the bushes, drew his weapon and fired with uncanny speed. Jerking to the side, Malaka flipped the dagger over to hold it blade first, and threw it at the scrambling archer. It thudded into him, and the scout yelled out in pain as he went down, flesh withering, but not as badly as the first target. The venom had largely been diluted by blood. Malaka reached for Hound to finish the job when a powerful lightning bolt struck him from above. The blast crackled about his skin, but the drow's natural resistance to such spells threw off the energy. "Light!" he cursed. If his treetop ambusher had been a wizard, then he may have already sent a warning to others. There was no choice; he had already been detected. Malaka was going to have to draw upon his considerable reserves of power and cast.

Hissing an incantation, the drow swiftly turned invisible. It was hard to move and such at first when adjusting to not being able to see any part of you, but Malaka had spent what seemed to be at times a good quarter of his life in such a state. The sentry in the bushes was groaning and getting up, the dagger jutting out of his back like a hump. Knowing the wizard would soon cast a spell to either see or remove his current spell, Malaka circled behind the sentry on the ground, who was looking around furiously with a sword in hand. Coming up behind him, the drow drew Hound with a hiss. The sentry turned just in time for the assassin to plunge the red bladed, white hilted sword into his chest. The black runes on the blade pulsed with sick pleasure, and the hellhound on the pommel blackened with glee.

The moment he struck, Malaka returned to the visible world, praying that he had forced the wizard to waste a spell countering an enchantment he removed himself of. Hound sucked away the elf's life force quickly. While the blade did nothing to the soul, it was the bane of all elves, a twisted devil's weapon found in Myth Drannor (while it was still ruined), a weapon that automatically sought to take all the life from any form of elf it struck. Unless the elf was powerful enough to resist the sword, they were as good as dead even if they suffered a mere scratch. This one, obviously, was not. The assassin withdrew Hound and withdrew into the shadows, his darkness blending with the forests. In moments, he found the moving wizard up above. He was invisible, but shaking a branch by moving and rustling many leaves. No predator was he.

Malaka called upon his drow heritage and illuminated the mage in flickering purple flames. The mage looked at himself and started casting something, likely an abjuration to rid him of the illumination. Malaka started whispering his own spell with him, and just as the wizard caused the flames on him to wink out, the drow assassin stepped into a small blue door appearing in midair and vanished. A similar door opened behind the wizard, and out stepped Malaka, cold and furious at the wizard. Hound came up behind him and burst through his heart. The wizard died instantly –they rarely had the fortitude to resist the killing powers of the terrible sword. As the mage died, he was revealed as a sun elf in olive forest robes, wands, a ring, and an amulet. But no bow and arrows. So where…

Malaka cursed softly, dropping like a cat to the branches below, casting yet again. A mist spread through the trees. Normally, Malaka would rely on his skill to fade into the shadows even in plain view to hide, but he needed speed and over a hundred percent chance of success. Using the mist as just another distraction, the assassin slipped out of his perch and into the lower branches of another tree. Remaining perfectly still and pressed up against the trunk in the cover of a large series of leaves, the drow swiftly scanned the canopy through the mist. Motionless. His quarry was likely waiting for him to move first, because in the mist it was nigh impossible to see. Unfortunately, this affected Malaka as well. Another plan occurred to him, and he dropped down the forest floor under the cover of the pervasive mist. Malaka realized that the mist clearly announced to other elves exactly where he was…he had to move fast, faster than ever.

Sticking to the shadows, the assassin got out from under the mist, to find a disguised sentry lying on a low branch, disguised as leaves, arrow nocked in another black bow –yet another one of those drow-haters. Malaka froze. The sentry hadn't seen him, though he was standing in the shadow of a tree two trunks down from where the guard was. This was a _bad_ position to be in. If he moved, he was dead. So he didn't move, wondering. The other guard in the trees would find him soon enough –like the bark sentry, he was visible from up top –moreso, thanks to his white hair. And there might be more guards posted in the branches. The assassin had been in these scrapes before, though. There were ways, if you were just creative enough. Of course, being a drow helped as well, as he called upon another spell of his skin. A floating, jittering light appeared, dancing in midair, to the left of the sentry in the tree, _just_ inside his peripheral vision. He shifted quickly, aiming his weapon, and Malaka moved, running, an intense shadow with burning eyes gliding soundlessly over a moonlit forest floor, blasphemous blade of blood in his hand.

The guard shifted his aim back to the assassin, but Malaka closed first, striking at the lying elf. Hound cut open the back of his neck, nearly beheading him, and Malaka dodged away from the blood. Blood had a scent, and scents were _bad_. The elven guard slumped, relaxing the pull on the arrow. Wiping Hound on his cloak, Malaka sheathed the blade and took the ranged weapon, testing the pull. A good one hundred pounds –light, for a weapon like this. He smiled slightly at the irony of wielding a weapon of Shevarash. Sliding back into the shadows of the tree, Malaka cast another spell. Carrying the bow and nocked arrow in his left hand, the drow ascended the tree quickly with his other hand and feet sticky, spiderlike. He kept the bow as concealed as possible beneath his lean form. On a night, half in the shadows, it would be impossible to know he was carrying it.

Malaka heard the whistle of an arrow and smiled as he dropped down, releasing his spidery spell a moment before the arrow thudded into the bark. His ploy had worked; the archer had revealed himself. Spinning around, the assassin located his assailant in the tree behind him, extremely far up in the branches. Briefly aiming, Malaka fired, striking the elf in the foot. Not a very good shot. He had been counting on it to be fatal; he didn't bring the entire quiver from the guard. Dropping the bow in disgust, Malaka knew he had one last ditch option left to him. He was loath to do it, but he wanted this over with quickly, and it would take time to physically move all the way up there, being shot at with every step.

The assassin ran and jumped, unleashing Hound. In midair, he vanished with a soft crack. An arrow spit through the air where he should have been, but struck nothing. It was no invisibility spell. The ring's teleportation ended with another soft sound as the assassin appeared in midair right in front and above of the archer. The elf had time to widen his eyes before Hound crashed into his gut and Malaka into him. The two slim elves tumbled down the tree, making tremendous noise, but Malaka withdrew Hound and caught a branch with his free hand. The guard crashed into the forest floor, his blood spreading rapidly, flattening small, beautiful flowers that had just begun to grow with its weight.

The assassin dropped and collapsed against the tree. He could not afford another one of those battles. He had used magic with gusto, probably alerting the other elves and draining himself before he got around to the task that would _really _require some magic, and a lot of luck. It took a lot of effort to end that sort of fight quickly; and assassin's liked to take their time. He was not prepared for that kind of intense war –which is exactly what he'd be getting every day if he didn't finish what he started. Calming himself and slowing his breathing, Malaka snaked through the shadows easily until he was a good mile behind the battle. There, he began to climb. He'd have to use an alternate route now, since the path he was planning on using would be swarming with elves now. The only good thing was, the elves still had no idea how many drow were in the forest, and what sorts of skills they had. The answer would have shocked them.

The moon was at its zenith when the elven army came into view of the sneaking drow. The camp was set in a large clearing –it wasn't the entire force, but still considerable. The rest would be behind this camp, in other clearing most likely, and perhaps a few thousand along the banks of the river Duathampher. Most were in Reverie, but guards in silver breastplates and holding short swords were in place every half mile. There were no breaks. Still creeping through the trees silently, Malaka almost stepped _on_ a disguised sentinel, or maybe just a sleeping elf. His boot hovered in midair over the elf's back. His first thought was, _it's a good thing I'm alone, otherwise anyone who saw me like this would die laughing._ His second thought was, _oh, hells, he's going to feel that little tingling on his back and turn around, isn't he?_. Slowly, Malaka retracted his boot. He couldn't have blood dripping down the tree and alerting people, could he? Hound was out of the question. However, a certain dagger was not.

Cautiously, absurdly carefully, Malaka slipped his obsidian dagger out and poised it. In one heartbeat, he was a shadow in the breeze, crouched almost lovingly over the poor elf. In the next, he landed on the figure, slipping an arm under its throat and squeezing while the dagger impacted the base of the neck, blade first. The elf, a female, sputtered into the wind for a second before going perfectly limp. The guards noticed nothing. Malaka slipping the dagger out. Blood welled around the wound, but nothing would be flooding the forest floor. And there wasn't that much, since the remnants of bebilith venom had the pleasant side effect of drying up the victim after the initial strike. On to the silver breastplate.

Malaka had to abandon the trees; they didn't hover over the clearing, which was a good mile and a half in diameter. There were six evenly placed guards around the entire place. Once he concentrated, Malaka could hear the sounds of water in the background. The river was close. He circled around the guard until he was evenly in between his target and another silver breastplate. Dropping to his belly, Malaka turned himself into an umbral slip on a black surface of dirt and plants, moving along slowly but surely on the tips of his fingers and boots. When he was past the sentries, Malaka grinned. It was time to start the fun. Shake things up a little. After he was through with this little excursion, the elves would never have a restful night again.

Moving to his right, Malaka ended up a hundred yards behind the first silver breastplate guard. The guard, like the others, was idly watching the forest and enjoying nature, counting on the hidden guards in the trees like the one Malaka had almost kicked right off her branch. Slowly, he rotated to face the guard's back while rising into a crouch. As he crept towards the guard, Malaka peeled off the glove of his left hand and stuck it in its belt. Right behind the guard, he straightened, and closed his gloved hand around the guard's neck while slapping the bare left one over his mouth, incanting. His hand dully flashed green for a heartbeat, and the guard stopped struggling. His pale skin turned grey, and his hair started to fall out. The veins began to show upon him. And then the skin started to peel off. Not through with just a simple spell of poisoning, Malaka squeezed the throat of the guard until he died.

"What-?" he heard another guard mutter in the trees. _Discovered. Good_. Malaka threw the guard to the ground, and calmly put the glove back on as the guard's eyes widened, staring out from a thicket, his orderly world shattered by the anarchy that was Malaka. Waving, Malaka drew Hound and ran for the camp silently. Ran for all those elves in Reverie. They preferred resting under the open stars.

A terrible mistake for them.

Hound slashed at arms, legs, throats, breasts, stomachs, heads…Malaka didn't stop, just cut without abandon as he ran through. A horn blast shattered the silence, and the elves began to stir. Better and better. Malaka started paying more attention to his work, cutting precisely and cruelly. Hound needed little to take the lives of these elves. Their defenses were down while they were in Reverie –almost none had the strength to resist the lethal sword. Malaka turned his run towards the main standard, where the captain would be. Elves stumbled up upon seeing him. A bare few managed to get in a sword slash, but Malaka ignored them and batted their weapons aside. He wasn't here to fight. He cut to the side, in front of him, up, down…finally, he was in sight of a tent. Apparently the captain of this legion wanted some privacy.

The watchmen outside the tent tried to stop Malaka. They were fools. He rolled through the slit right in between their slashing swords. If they were truly good sentinels, then they would have slashed down and to the side, in front of the slit. The drow, adrenaline pumping, heat flushing through his system, came to his feet to face an elven commander reaching for her sword and a naked male scrambling out of their sleeping roll. "Pale fools!" he screamed as he took Hound in both hands and slashed deep into the skull of the commander. Wrenching his sword out, Malaka almost casually slashed out the throat of the male, and stepped back like an afterthought to avoid getting bloodstained. After both had fallen and the sentinels were bursting inside the tent, Malaka slit a holt in the side and exited, grabbing the commander's cloak.

As he casted faster than he ever casted before, Malaka threw on the cloak inside out. He was covered in the silvery garment, and in moments, his skin turned white, his hair dark, and his almond eyes became blue. Inside out, indeed. Tying the cape frantically, Malaka rushed through the camp, drawing his dagger. "Drow!" he screamed like he was in pure terror. "There's drow in the camp! Hundreds! We're under attack! TO ARMS!" No one noticed the details of his attire or slight melodic accent as he dashed by them, screaming like a siren, eyes horrendously wide, mouth gaping in terror. He could have never made it sneaking inside the camp like that; he would have been stopped and scrutinized. However, once there was an appropriate atmosphere of chaos…

"Drow! Hundreds of drow! Raiders!" The cry was taken up and multiplied. Elves dashed all over the place, blades up, tugging on armor, shedding their amorous partners and standing with weapons ready. And Malaka ran in circles, screaming his head off, preying on their fear, loving it all.

**A/N **Metal Gear Malaka. All I have to say on _this_ drow assassin. Tell me what you think, especially on combat, I'm desperate to improve my combat writing style. Personally, I think it needs more fluidity. Next chapter should have some familiar faces in it.

**Thazienne** I can see how the italics might be confusing. I made them switch like that in the middle of the paragraph to imply how violently the flashback came upon Malaka, but yeah it could have been done better. If there was another probelm with the italics, please let me know. Adenal is someone you will see more of. I can see how the standing around and talking is unnatractive. They couldn't move too much in the assassin's cubby, but walking about the parapets would have been nice. All in all, ch 2 is not my favorite, and it wasn't totally neccesary, but I put it in. Hopefully this one is better, people certainly move in this one. Glad I could help you go back and pick up those books again -they're certainly a welcome change from some of the more 'popular' realms books (involving a certain elf _thing_ wandering the Marches).


	4. Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

**Chapter Four **_Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold_

He swept the silver commander's cloak off and threw it into the woods the moment his disguising spell wore off and his colors returned to normal. Malaka could barely hold back his laughter, but that would have possibly given away his position, so he contented himself with a nasty smile, floating in and out of shadow like a wraith of glee. The weapons and spells expended by the elven camp had shot through the silent forest, striking at their own forces. The camp was still awhirl in chaos, utterly confused as to what happened. Their leader was dead, scouts had been slain by different hands, and the elves were generally clueless except for the fact that there were drow in the camp. Reports varied as to how many. None of them had expected a drow attack so soon, so far from drow lands; as far as they knew, no drow made it alive away from Myth Drannor.

It would spread like a plague; Malaka could see it now. No, he could not repeat the same trick, but he really didn't need to. The confusion he had thrown into the carefully built elven war gears would have a ripple effect, the tale spreading to other camps and becoming more exaggerated with every telling. The assassin hadn't done any real physical damage –at most he'd slain a dozen and a half –but it was the damage to the psyche that was impressive. This army would approach House Jaelre exhausted from sleep deprivation, simply because of fear. First, of course, they would have to _find_ it. House Jaelre was well warded; it would take extremely powerful clerics to crack the shells and locate it. A magical battle Malaka would not be participating in. It was up to the clerics and warlords now –he had done his part, and well.

Malaka touched the blue ring underneath his glove. It had one more charge left in it, which he could use to take him somewhere near the red road, or at least outside the bounds of elven territory. Running low on spells, he didn't want to risk his person now. Malaka might have killed far more elves than any armored warrior, but once they knew he was here, said armored warrior would be laughing his ass of watching the drow try and survive. No, his power was in the shadows, and it was unwise to stick around. Still, he did not use the ring, instead choosing to walk through the forest and enjoy the sounds of chaos behind him. After the confusion faded, he'd use his ring. For now, walking to the music of nightbirds and screams in the shadows cast by silver light was an acceptable option.

The shouts and confusion had faded almost to nothing when Malaka took of his glove and touched the ring. Just before he activated it, he noticed a new rhythm in the sounds behind him –voices. Close voices, in the forest. The assassin frowned. He had assumed all the elven sentries and scouts had gone for he camp. Suspiciously putting the glove back on, the assassin fell even deeper into the dark shelter under the trees and listened. The voices were growing closer. They were melodic enough to make human bards weep with envy. One was relatively deep and masculine, while the other one was most definitely feminine.

There, to the right. Malaka saw the two figures. One was a tall, strong elf, practically flowing with a sainted aura, black haired and white skinned. He wore a grey shirt and breeches, but carried a blue blade –_blue blade!_ Malaka's mouth opened into a gash of hatred. _The sword that took Jylann, and Rilraena!_ Images of the dour drow male and his kukris, and the sarcastic half elven woman, wife of Xolshin, Malaka's fiery tempered friend –_closest_ friend –flashed through his mind. The assassin stared at the male's face, memorizing every line. _I will cut every pretty feature from you, faerie,_ he swore. Vhaeraun must have kept him in place long enough to play to his dark will. _You will know me by the end, Captain Fflar Melruth. You cannot protect yourself from shadows_. A cold wind swept through the trees, but it was nothing compared to the ice that radiated from Malaka's eyes.

The female was dressed in a hastily thrown on pink slip and prodding the trees with a staff. She wasn't the Coronal, to Malaka's greatest disappointment, but she was another red haired faerie woman. "Nothing," she said gently. "I've told you, there's nothing here. Let's go back, Fflar."

"I _saw_ something run into the woods here!" the male said, grip tightening around his sword. "If there were drow, they're running this way." He increased his pace.

"If there were drow here, they are far enough out of our wards to teleport."

"My advisors tell me that there's little chance of them doing that. Millennia of living in a place where they can't teleport around has made them forget the spells on how to, they say."

"And I've told you, your advisors are proud members of the _tel'quessir_. They do not understand their foe as well as I! I've been taken to their dark strongholds, I know how they think. These drow do not live underground. They've adapted. They continue to adapt. Endlessly. And they've obviously adapted to our defenses and ignored them, just as they adapted to teleportation magic. I've seen them do it."

_Foolish faerie. Only a drow can understand the mind of a drow!_

"Laliana, I admire you and love you like a sister, but trust me. I know what I saw. If there are drow here, they came this way."

"Then how come I sense no evil?" Malaka smiled. "The staff picks up nothing!"

"Then the staff is faulty." Fflar pressed on.

In fact, the staff was working perfectly. Malaka had covered his innate aura by having Bela perform a short spell before leaving this night –it had required a large pinch of diamond dust, but was well worth it. Magical means could not detect him, or at least, they'd have a bitch of a time trying to. Having access to spells that could mask his passing also helped, but Malaka had no worries. Neither looked like an expert ranger who could track a drow Master. The two pressed forward, Captain Melruth taking point, swinging his sword about like a detector. Neither noticed that they had picked up an extra shadow, stepping through the trees.

They walked to the edge of the forest, where a rushing river flowed on their right. Fflar swore softly and planted his sword blade first in the ground near a huge boulder, pacing towards the river with his hands on his hips. Laliana just tapped her staff and gave him a look. Like some terrible monkey, Malaka crouched on a branch above them, fey, almost pixielike features twisted into something demonic, black lips sneering at both. The woman would die first, he decided. No. He couldn't wait. It would be the murderer. He would paralyze the murderer with one swift strike (he seemed strong enough to resist the power of Hound, which Malaka couldn't control), and drink in the woman's sweet screams before taking her and killing her. And then he would teleport away with the captain, taking his good time with him.

It was even colder by the river, and the woman shivered in her lack of clothing. "We should turn back, Fflar," she said gently, realizing she was winning him over. "The drow are gone."

"We're going to let them get away with such a sin?!" Fflar practically shouted. Laliana flinched, and he automatically melted. "How are we going to tell Ilsevele? Captain Bilani was one of her greatest supporters, and a good friend. I knew I should have been there, I _knew_ I should have put base camp with the vanguard. How could she have been murdered so quickly? What sort of assassination _was_ this?"

"I told you," Laliana said. "The drow twist at every turn. They've come up with even more sickening ways of assassination, turned it into a perverted art."

Malaka smiled slightly at the praise.

"Don't blame yourself, or your generals. If you had put your standard down in front, I would be crying over your body right now. Come on, Fflar," she said, turning. "Let's get back and comfort out people."

Malaka leapt. For an evil instant, he was silhouetted against the full moon, casting a shadow over the elves that caused Fflar to start turning and looking up as the assassin drew steel in midair. "Jaelre!" he hissed as he descended, slashing. His surprising strikes never failed. It was said in the Jaelre compound that if you did not realize Malaka was watching you, you were already dead. Indeed, very few times did Malaka fail to execute his intent with a sneaking strike.

This was one of them. The assassin was faster than anything else in Jaelre, but Fflar was faster than he. The elven captain was unarmed at the moment, but he launched a muscled fist. The blow hit the snarling drow in the stomach, causing something inside to _hurt_, and sent him flying backwards. Nevertheless, Hound took a bit from Fflar's collarbone before Malaka was rebuffed. The drow was flying headfirst for the big boulder, but Malaka twisted dexterously and impacted the boulder with his left hand first. Coiling the arm, as something cracked in his hand while impacting the rock, he flipped himself over and landed feet-first on the boulder –an impressive feat, especially with the pain in his stomach and his left hand, where the tips of his fingers were likely broken from the shooting pain.

Malaka knew that he had just lost all advantages and put himself in at a huge disadvantage, and he was wounded. He knew he couldn't stand a few more hits, stamina was not his strength either. But he embraced the swirling mix of emotion that struck him at seeing the murderer. Springing lightly off the boulder as Fflar drew Keryvian, Malaka smashed left shoulder first into the far larger elf, knocking him off balance, and twisted to bring Hound to bear again. He forgot his goal of paralyzing the elf, aiming for the kill. Fflar pushed him to the side with his body and brought Keryvian's hilt crashing down upon the drow's head. Stumbling back, Malaka barely ducked a swipe of the bastard sword and stabbed in towards Fflar's knee, scoring a minor scratch.

The elven knight took his sword in both hands. White fire blazed about it as the female began chanting. Keryvian came down, and Malaka threw the flat of Hound in the way, holding the blade with the palm of his injured hand. The blow drove him to his knees, white flames burning his gloved hands, and bent him back as Malaka had to move his left hand from the blade. It was killing him, hurting from the impact tremors. Then the female struck from afar, a blazing beam of white light cutting into his very soul like a diamond. Malaka's lips turned grey, and he almost fell over on his right side. _The power came from the staff_. Fflar drew back his sword for the final strike, and the female fired off a second spell, a crackling green beam of energy that struck him in the chest. Green energy crackled all over his body, threatening to obliterate him down to the last fiber of being, but the drow flesh repelled the disintegrating powers, though they left him drained. He barely had enough energy to roll to the side as Keryvian slashed down. Hound darted out and nicked Fflar's boot.

The drow summoned up the energy he needed to come to his feet, though he was sluggish. Barely managing to parry a jab, Malaka nearly screamed in frustration as the female started another spell. Stepping back from combat, he hissed and spat vile words that made Fflar wince in pain before advancing. Taking the risk of Hound sucking the life out of him, Malaka swiftly amputated the tip of his broken fifth finger and swiped the bloody stump onto his leather belt. The vile spell and ritual complete, Malaka felt a surge of power rip through him, renewing his energy, his pain turning masochistically to pleasure. The female struck before Keryvian could close. Fflar hung back as a ray of cold energy was fired at the assassin, who shifted to the side at the last moment. The freezing ray shattered a small sapling, causing the female to cry out in horror.

The assassin grinned insanely, laughed.

Fflar closed and hammered his blows down upon the assassin, who turned with all four slashes that he completed, parrying the weak of Keryvian's blade with the strong of Hound's. One final strike brought Hound unnervingly close to his own face, and Malaka felt a tremor at the want for elven blood of the sword –his included. Stepping back, the cruel sentience disappeared. Off balance, Fflar was open to a swift stab to the gut, parried with the bastard sword. Retracting, Malaka feinted another stab to the temple, but dropped the blade low as Keryvian went up high and slashed violently, opening a wound on Fflar's thigh. The pommel of the bastard sword swung up, and Malaka snapped his head back to avoid having his skull turned to paste.

The assassin went back further, as the female elf went into a deep trance for some powerful spell. He snatched a vial from his belt, waggled it in front of the advancing Fflar, and threw it down with a grin. It shattered, releasing purple fumes, and Malaka sprinted away towards the other elf, who had her eyes closed, deep in the throes of her power. Keryvian glowed with white fire again and slashed through the fumes, but that just spread the poison further towards the elven captain. Malaka raised his blade, preparing grimly to run the female through, when his foot caught on a root and he tripped, falling to the ground, screaming as he landed on his injured hand. He managed to turn around and scramble halfway into a crouch, wheeling to face a slowly advancing Fflar, whose skin was agonizingly peeling off in flakes.

And suddenly he couldn't move. The assassin dropped back to his hands and knees, head down and facing the ground. He was caught in some sort of holding spell, and couldn't muster the strength to spit out a curse.

"Shall we take him back to camp?" came the female's voice.

"Perhaps," said Fflar, standing in front of the Malaka, who could only see his boots. Yet the drow was struggling with the spell, making jerking movements. "Though he seems to have a will. We'll kill him here and question his spirit."

Malaka managed to move his head up a couple of inches. "Fool!" he hissed, laughing.

Fflar paused, the poison running through his veins and stealing his strength. Yet he managed to send some hidden reserve of power to his arms, raising Keryvian. "Yes. You _are_ a fool."

"No." Malaka laughed again. "_You_!" And he dropped a globe of utter darkness over all of them. Throwing off the spell of holding, Malaka tumbled out of the globe, seeing the white flaming blade sweep out of the globe in a fury. The combined agony and ecstasy of his injuries had given him the strength to resist, letting him spring his trap. The elven female burst out of the globe, clearly fearing Fflar would hit her with his pretty blade. With a single springing leap, Malaka caught her and forced her down, covering her mouth with his left hand and pinning her with his knees and Hound, muttering dark words of shadow. Fflar burst out of the shadows, sword in hand, and a moment later, the spell caused Malaka's gloved broken hand to glow red. For a terrifying moment, he realized he had forgotten to remove the glove, but apparently the hole where his small finger used to be was enough of a conduit. The female's heart stopped.

Fflar screamed, skin still flaking, and charged stiffly as Malaka stood and turned to face him, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. "_Nau_," whispered the drow, and then he smiled, knowing the answer, and he concentrated on his right hand for a final act of magic. Time slowed. There was no way for him to blow the strike. White fired began to gather again on the baneblade. It swept down towards the drow's head. There was a soft crack, and Keryvian cut through nothing but air.

"No!" gasped Fflar, taking it all in. "No!"

Mockingly, the assassin's laughter rang in his ears.

0o0

Malaka stumbled into existence around two feet away from the point of a crossbow quarrel. The drow guard almost reflexively fired, but he had been told to await the arrival of the Master. The loyal Jaelre grabbed the assassin and pulled him up. He was in a bad way, ashen and beaten, bleeding from his hand, sword clutched loosely on the other. Malaka stretched painfully, bleeding hand holding his stomach. "Jaelre," he managed. "I…the red road. House Jaelre."

"Of course. We have been given orders." The guard helped the assassin along to the red brick, where two mages, one Auzkovyn and one Jaelre, stood at ready in the night. Malaka stumbled on, and in moments, he was being helped along the shadow road. Perhaps it was just his imagination, brought on by exposure to inhaled poisons, smiting fires, disintegration spells, and a cut to his very soul, but he thought he saw some strange things on the plain, lurking _just_ out of obvious sight –giants of shadow, gaunt and emaciated. Batlike creatures on high. Even ebon wyrms, eyeing him hungrily, daring him to fall off the red road. Then again, it was likely just his imagination.

Straightening slightly when they reached the platform in front of House Jaelre, the assassin managed to make it inside the House with some dignity, though the guards the mages handed him over to stepped very carefully with him. At this point, he was too tired to care if they were here to kill him –though he doubted it. House Jaelre would need all its forces in the near future. He didn't notice the carved gargoyles and the flickering torches lighting the corridors. Entering the infirmary was a haze; one moment he was standing somewhere, the next he was being laid down on a stone slab eerily similar to a sacrificial altar, staring up at a ceiling painted with the image of Vhaeraun battling the lesser god Selvetarm, and losing his hand. An ominous thought, Malaka realized. What if using Hound to slice off his finger had more consequences…and then a masked male was standing over him, hands sweeping over his chest, glowing with red energy. Malaka slipped into Reverie.

When he woke, he had no sense of time; the infirmary had no windows. Someone was snoring on the next slab –turning his head, the assassin realized it was the masked priest who had healed him. While snoring during a trance was atypical, it wasn't unheard of, typically occurring when one was having a particularly unpleasant dream. Theologians suspected it was some kind of vestigial defense mechanism with some higher function in a temporal sense of the mind, but Malaka didn't exactly know what that meant, though he doggedly kept up with the recent sciences. As he got up, the assassin realized he was buck naked.

Not good.

Confused and utterly mystified by this state of being, he scanned the room and found Hound lying on another slab. Malaka picked it up and looked around. He didn't know why, but holding a weapon, even while unclothed, made him feel better. It must be some subconscious assassin thing. The infirmary hadn't changed much –still the same cheerful amber walls striped with grey, tiled floor, and auxillary rooms in the distance, while the main room was filled with healing slabs.

The small door to the outside opened, and Malaka whirled, covering himself with the blade of Hound. Bela couldn't stop from laughing at the sight, and Malaka sighed tiredly. The wizardess was holding his drab black clothing. "They needed…laundry…_gods_ I wish I had a way preserve this moment _forever_!"

"Oh, quiet and toss it here," muttered the assassin irately. While dark elves rarely had problems with nudity, Malaka was unusual in that he found himself just plain old _vulnerable_ without any sort of covering to help him blend into the shadows. Plus the fact that Bela was an attractive female wearing tight wizard's robes. The wizardess used a cantrip to float the pile over to the assassin, who stared pointedly at her, but she wouldn't turn around. Sighing, he grabbed his breeches, and dropped Hound and turned swiftly while jumping into them, elicting a slight giggle. He had less problems dressing in the rest of his outfit, which smelled pleasantly like pine trees. They even repaired his glove for him, though the teleportation ring was missing from the set. Well, it _had_ been on loan, but still…the assassin would have liked to keep a useful tool like that.

Bela gestured, telling him to come with her, still smiling absurdly at him. "Quit that," he murmured at her, dropping a hand to Hound's sheath easily. "What, you've never seen-"

"Look at my face and tell me what I haven't seen."

Malaka did. "Right. Forget that."

She smiled with pure wickedness in her eyes. "Just I've never seen _your-_"

"I said _forget_._ It._ Do _not_ make me use that one spell you tried to teach me…didn't it modify the memory of another being or something?"

"Something like that."

"Can you teach me again?"

"Not a male's chance in the Demonweb Pits."

"Damn you, female." He shook his head. "Where are we going?"

"Out. Jezz and Nur decided that a joint meeting with the Auzkovyn is in order, but they want you there. Not just because they need a report on how your mission went last night –we're all waiting for that –but because the Auzkovyn want to meet the renowned Master Malaka. I'll send us there –I wanted to find out how you were doing."

"Don't tell me that you're going as soft as a surface elf on me," groaned the assassin. "Next thing you know you'll be saying you _care_ for me." The two drow shared an easy laugh, though they lapsed into silence as they walked out from under the shadows and into the sunny day. Malaka wondered why he had made that last comment. Because it was natural, he supposed. Drow were taught to detach, to be lustful yet cold, from their very birth. Yet on the surface, marriage was a common thing amongst the drow. Vhaeraun himself urged that the drow take permanent partners and have children, if only to breed true bloodlines, increase the number of drow on the night above. Yet, the side effect was that more and more drow were letting their guard down around partners, even relaxing. What Malaka wondered was whether it was happening to _him_. Not a desirable thing for an assassin by trade. Who knew what was next –like actual _compassion_ for a target. He shuddered.

Bela grabbed his arm and muttered a spell, and again there was a soft crack as Malaka was hurled through space and time, and another crack as they emerged into a tiny, wooded clearing. Jezz stood in the shade of a shadowtop; he had never gotten used to the sun. Several other drow were more comfortable outside, including Bela and Malaka –by profession they spent many hours in the wooded glades. The assassin turned to face a group of four drow –an elderly male with a sharp widows peak dressed in violet and olive robes, holding a dragonscaled staff; a younger male with similar features in a bright green, sleeveless jerkin and black breeches, fingering his twin longswords easily; a female in the clerical garb of Vhaeraun, save she wore a frost rimmed rapier instead of a short sword; and another, huge female dressed in green dragon plate, with a broadsword and shield on her back. The Auzkovyn clan leaders. In the corner of his eye, Malaka caught the gazes of Ti'rak and Sheer, standing in the shadows.

So. They had found the Auzkovyn. While they still had more to rile up, this was a good start. Malaka turned to face Jezz,who stepped out of the shade momentarily. "Hundreds of years ago," the sorcerer said, "House Jaelre was exiled from Menzoberranzan for its belief in our Masked Lord. Praise be to Vhaeraun, he let us endure, and eventually we made or way to he surface. Later, the noble Auzkovyn emerged as well, and settled in the abandoned ruins. We have lived a beautiful style of life here, raiding with impunity on the Dales, spreading the faith of Vhaeraun, and even," he smiled, "bringing new life, breeding true to drow bloodline, into the fold. And now, the faeries say that we are a pestilence meant to be destroyed, just because now they have arrived, out of the same malice that drives the Spider Bitches to kill us." He spat, and the Auzkovyn murmured in approval. "I say it is enough. I say we do _not _allow them to fade us into the night! I say we cannot let them sweep through us, with their _armies_, and their _mages_, and the full force of their new _kingdom_. Yet I know, in my heart of hearts, that we cannot stand against such forces as we are. We need to join together, my Auzkovyn cousins of the night. We need to eat together. We need to speak together. We need to pray together. We need to fight together. We need to rise together, we need to build together."

"Vhaeraun has given me his dream, his vision, and I know that, _together_, we can bring it to fruition. _Together_, we can create power that will make these lightskins wish that they had stayed on their Retreat. _Together_, we can fashion an extension of Vhaeraun's will so powerful people will flock to it from every corner of the night above and below. _Together_, we can make the first, the first in millennia, Kingdom."


	5. Traitors and Tribulations

**A/N** I just reread some parts of Condemnation, the first Lady Penitent book, and the Last Mythal –in essence, every part of those books that involve the Jaelre. Hence, I will try to make the writings from now on reflect the Jaelre as depicted in canon, though I don't think I've screwed up too badly so far. And I also fixed the typos in Jezz's little speech last chapter.

**Thazienne** Let's see if I can't put your suggestion for using the drow senses to good use –but I don't want to overdo it.

**Darev** Thank you very much for reviewing, with a large amount of depth too! Your endorsements are greatly appreciated. I've tried to cut down on the paragraph size a little as per suggestion. I doubt that Bela is Miyeritari at all; she's Jaelre, and they're from Menzoberranzan, save they were booted by the Baenre 500 years plus ago. Malaka is just common bred stock, and might be Miyeritari, might be Illythiiri, might be the result of half drow surface elves breeding back true into full drow bloodline. Bloodlines might become important in Chapter 6 or 7, but only maybe. But I'm taking out the balor's taint and putting in my own ideas anyway, I hope they're good. Read on for a twist on the two Houses.

**Chapter Five **_Traitors and Tribulations_

The sarcastic clapping shocked everyone out of the magic of Jezz's speech. Malaka tensed when he saw Valk emerge out of the shadows –he hadn't even seen the mage! The assassin still had no idea how the mage could have avoided detection for this long. His normally keen sense of hearing, a trait of all drow, had picked up not even a rustle as the mage moved, not even from his robes. And he had no _smell_, nothing like the freshness radiating from Malaka's clothes or the sweat rolling off of Jezz's muscular chest. thanks to the dim sun above.

"A most inspiring and beautiful song you weave, Jaelre," said Valk carelessly. "Yet I find you _lie_."

Hound whistled out of its sheath to the song of the other Jaelre blades snapping out. Wrist crossbows were cocked and bracer-mounted daggers loosened. Every Jaelre in the clearing carried weapons of that sort, while the Auzkovyn were more sylvan and elvish in their weapons and style. Bela let go of Malaka's arm and he felt an ill blast of power come from her, ready to kill the shadowy mage. For a moment, Malaka reflected that he should have refreshed his spells before coming here; he only had five or six castings left in him. Jezz alone remained calm among the Jaelre, though the tiny clearing was being thrown into chaos all around him.

"What do you mean, Valk Auzkovyn? And why are you here? You weren't contacted." Jezz was confused. Malaka didn't have to smell his sweat now –he could see it streaming down the drow's face.

Valk smiled sardonically and turned to Malaka, bowing. "I know about the exodus from Myth Drannor, oh yes. No one had to tell me though! I read your Master assassin's mind there while we were taking the red road." Malaka almost hurled his sword at Valk, but settled into an icy rage instead. So it wasn't the Masked Lord who had power there, it was the damned _mage_. "He didn't even notice! Too shocked by the reality of my power, probably –not many can create their own plane like that." Bela's eyes narrowed, and she began muttering, anger coming off her in waves –she had done at least half the work on that plane. "In any case, _I_ know the truth, and it is that the Jaelre are _liars_. We cannot let this perversion of Vhaeraun's will influence us, brothers of Auzkovyn."

Bela completed her spell and raised her right hand, fire and ice swirling about it. Malaka noticed it really for the first time, and he reached over and tugging her hand down, mind whirling. "Not now," he said softly. "You'll just make them think the two faced traitor is right." In reality, he knew that Valk would destroy Bela, destroy them all. He wasn't sure exactly how powerful the mage/cleric was, but it was more than anything they could handle. He studied Valk, mind still reeling from the accusations. The shadow mage had been cordial, even friendly with the Jaelre, even with the common born assassin. He couldn't think of an influence that would cause Valk to hurl such a dark wedge between the two most powerful drow clans, especially at a time like this. But it seemed the shadow mage wanted to destroy this kingdom before it was even born.

Malaka sheathed his sword, to the surprise of many around him. Instead, he fixed Valk with a cold, cool glare, putting his hands on his hips, and stated simply, "Explain." The soft word echoed around the silent clearing, birds ceasing their singing as if by some ill omen. Malaka could feel it –there was something _wrong_ here, and it wasn't here. The wrongness has tangible, he could almost taste it. It was the same power that had silenced the forest on his journey back to House Jaelre the first time. Like before, Malaka heard no birdsong, no rustling boughs –in essence, no life.

Valk smiled sardonically. His white hair was ragged and extremely wavy, unkempt, and the golden embroidery on his robes was fading away, as if being absorbed by the black of the garment. And he was carrying no staff today, but wearing a black chain with a jet stone set in it around his waist, and a smaller one around his neck. "Explain. Yes. I'll explain to you, assassin, poor uninformed commoner that you are." He laughed. "Your Jaelre brothers have tricked us all. They don't plan to unite with us; they plan to get us to lower their guard and then destroy us! They'll flee back to their lightless holes, groveling to the Matron Bitches of Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan. Don't take my word for it; _watch them_. An uncanny number of them will desert. The Jaelre are eight thousand strong; and I predict not even half of them will meet the seven thousand bold Auzkovyn to support them on the field of battle, and then they will flee when we most need them to repel the faeries."

"And how are you divining this?" Malaka said in a dangerously tranquil monotone.

Valk smiled mysteriously. "Let us just say the shadows have spoken to me, and told me that the Jaelre harbor dark deeds towards us as well as the faeries. I have my clerical talents, after all. If you don't believe me, then cast one of your vaunted truth spells. Nurkinyan, _you_ can, can't you?" The powerful mage smiled at the shadows, and from them emerged a hidden Nurkinyan, his marked face drawn and tense. Malaka felt an old hatred, a _disgust_ even, well up inside him. This was not the leader he wanted –he wanted someone to _challenge_ the fool in front of him, to show no fear and send the mage running back to whoever was jerking his string, chains and stones tucked between his legs. The cleric, silent and wary, sipped on his mask and beseeched Vhaeraun to give him the power to know truth from lie.

"Why should _he_ do it?" snapped the Auzkovyn female cleric. "_He_ will _deny_ the truth!" She started snapping out her own spell.

"And why should _she_ do it?" said Bela sarcastically. "_She_ will _approve_ the lie!" The two females glared at each other, each promising death.

Everyone looked at each other warily. "It appears," the assassin stated calmly, "that we are at an impasse." He smiled humorlessly, reflecting about what it was to be drow. No trust, that's what it was. "Why don't we find an impartial party?"

"Exactly who do you suggest, assassin? Care to bring in a faerie cleric from yon army?"

Malaka was silent. The truth was he had no idea –apart from that strange, wandering cleric named Malvag, and he could be influenced by either side. Plus he had no idea how to find him at the moment –the Nightshadow was quite good at hiding. "We don't even have the time for this," he said. "The warlord who threw down the daemonfey and their allies –more powerful than ours, of course –is headed here with a growing army, and we are bickering like children because of one word of dissent. Does anyone here _deny_ there is an army on the march?"

No one did.

"Does anyone deny that it would be _smart_ for Vhaeraun's clergy to unite to fight this army?"

He heard the whispers of "treacherous", "untrustworthy", and "backstabbers" from every party, but no outright competition came to challenge the assassin, not even from the confident mage in front of him.

"So why are we all so confused as to what to do?"

"Because you plan to betray us!" snapped the Auzkovyn wizard, bunched and tense.

"You go on the word of a single drow mage, a mage _experimenting_ with unknown magics, magics," he raised his voice, something rare, "that are _not_ of Vhaeraun's clerics, but those of the arcane instead?" It was a risky sentence. The only indication he had to go on that Valk had constructed the red road with arcane magics was that Bela was also constructing the road, and she knew nothing of the divine.

Valk lost his happy demeanor. "Malaka, friend, are you accusing me of insanity?"

"Why, yes, I suppose I am, friend," said Malaka with vicious pleasure. A flutter of laughter passed through the Jaelre drow, sweet music to the assassin's ears.

Valk's handsome face hardened, his eyes darkened, and the shadows of the grove seemed to sweep towards him for a moment, cloaking the drow ever more in shadow. "I would watch your words carefully, assassin. Unlike your kin, mine know better than to disregard advice of mine."

"Why? _Xun nind khaless dos_?" _Do they trust you? _It was the most ironic phrase in the drow language. "Trust a mage who spends his time away from his church, wielding power unknown to us all? A mage, whose ambitions remain as hungry and violent as those in the night below? Do not tell me that they 'trust' you, Valk. We are drow, and not as easy to deceive as the faeries and humans."

"So what makes you think that we should trust _you_?" the mage sneered.

Malaka smiled slightly. "Who said anything about trust? We said unity. Becoming one. Yet when have the drow, even in a city-state, ever trusted each other? We have a motive for our actions, this advancing army. We need each other. There is reason for us to strike at our brothers in Auzkovyn. Why should you have them believe that we are as stupid as that?"

Valk looked at both clerics, lie detecting spells up and running, and smiled in a pained way. "I told you, the shadows informed me of your treachery."

"He's telling the truth!" cried the female cleric.

"Liar!" hissed Jezz, Malaka, and Bela. The word echoed around the clearing, a fading whisper traveling from drow to drow –_liar, liar. _In triumph, Malaka turned to Nurkinyan in triumph.

The drow cleric scrutinized the thaumaturge. Slowly, he said, "He's telling the truth."

The words dropped like a flaming pillar upon the Jaelre drow. They were knocked silent, their eyes shifting from the shadowy mage, who seemed to grow darker and taller, to the Jaelre cleric, who grew weaker and greyer. A shadow fell over all the drow in the clearing, and with a slight rumble and crack, the skies darkened with rain.

Each of the drow were startled at the rain, save Valk. Those who already did not have their long hoods pulled over their heads did so. The camouflage of the slim dark elves shifted in tune with the rain and the forest, as their elven cloaks were prone to do. Malaka was at a loss for words. He had overstepped his boundaries, throwing himself into the realm of drow politics, while all he really was suited for was staying the shadows. He laughed in a bitter, self-depreciating way even as his mind naturally tried to find an excuse, a comeback, _something_. _How can it be true? How? _

"Convinced now, brothers?" Valk turned to his House Auzkovyn compatriots. "Even _they_ cannot deny it; I speak the truth. The Jaelre will betray us!" The largest of the four Auzkovyn slid her two handed broadsword from her back, and Malaka smelled the rot of death all over that blade. It was a dangerous weapon, indeed. Still half in a state of shock, he checked his obsidian dagger in his left sleeve, and the shocking dart, smelling of sweet poison, in the right.

Bela, Jezz, and Nurkinyan –three of the four the leaders of House Jaelre –stepped back, and the furious speech began. Both mages were screaming at the cleric. From what Malaka caught of their conversation, they were asking if indeed they did have a plan to strike at their own brothers. Yet no one could comprehend why, save for inner drow capriciousness. There were soft steps in the rain behind him, and Malaka's two assassins flanked him. Ti'rak grabbed his arm and moved his lips to Malaka's ear. "What is going on?" he said. "_How_ did they find out what you meant to do?"

_What you meant to do… "They will strike in ambush format, like raiders, and both they and the faeries will take losses. We benefit greatly. I want you to find the most hotheaded leaders and speak with them…"_ His own words, spoken to his assassins, not a day earlier. Was this all _him_? Was this caused by his wariness and lack of trust, not Nurkinyan's, or Jezz's, or Bela's? Was this all…_his_ _fault?_

The Auzkovyn were stepping back, the mage and cleric preparing spells, while the male and female in their various shades of green stepped forward, in front of Valk and facing Malaka. "They brought you here because we wanted to see the Master assassin of House Jaelre, because your honored Tebryn Jaelre was too busy fortifying your _grand _fortress of Minauthkeep," hissed the male, smiling, whirling his two swords. "Tebryn is said to be a better fighter than you, but you are said to be the deadlier. I believe I'm about to experience an even more intimate knowledge of you, Malaka of House Jaelre." But the assassin wasn't listening, his flaming eyes locked on Valk's shadow. He could swear the shadow was smiling.

Was it truly Vhaeraun's will for them to fight like this? He knew that the Auzkovyn would have their own plans to come out of the conflict superior to their skilled and stealthy counterparts. All he was doing was preparing contingencies and protecting his House…wasn't he? He had no intentions of taking things as far as abandoning the Auzkovyn…did he? Yet he had no more time to think, because the male had leapt forward, Sheeranya was yelling in his ear and firing her concealed wristbow, drawing a dagger, Ti'rak was leaping away, casting his basic spells, and a longsword was aiming for his heart. Malaka thought that it would be better to let it strike, let his doubts and distrust fade away into Vhaeraun's realm, so his House could ally truthfully with House Auzkovyn.

Sheeranya spoiled that plan, certainly. Her hurled dagger caused the male to flinch and deflect, and then her two swords were out, battling the Auzkovyn fighter. _No! Not like this…_ And then he saw that deathly blade of the female's emerging from the rain, slicing away at Ti'rak. Two more strikes, maybe three, and the male would die. There was no choice. The obsidian dagger slid into his hand, and Malaka slid forward and batted away the sword, nearly folding in half under the pressure to do so. Yet part of him wasn't even in the battle, wasn't watching darkfire from the mages flash around the rainy sky, wans't seeing the bursts of light and fire lighting up the clearing, wasn't conscious of raising his right arm and firing the wrist bolt at the dragon-armored female's neck with a simple twist of his gloved hand.

This was wrong. This wasn't the way.

The mage in the shadows smiled, standing in a dark moon of umbra power.

And for a moment, he felt that smile radiate pure hate, pure sadness, pure… loss. The assassin's mind whirled, confused.

The flat of a blade sending the assassin to the ground jerked him back into his body wholly. The female raised her broadsword again to finish the assassin, his dart stuck in her neck, yet doing nothing at all. Ti'rak scrambled back and away, eager to leave. A distant scream sounded a lot like Sheeranya. Malaka was alone in the dark. He drew himself up to accept his fate, praying Vhaeraun had a greater plan for him in the next life. And then a blast of darkfire struck the Auzkovyn in the chest, sending her tumbling back.

Jezz limped forward, kukri in one hand, his snake coiled around his raised arm. The drow sorcerer called on every spell he knew, lashing the Auzkovyn back with black tentacles bursting from the ground, saving Malaka from the swords of his enemies. Rising, he saw Sheeranya bleeding on the ground, Nurkinyan kneeling over her. The Auzkovyn mage was hammering out their mageshields, readying for another bout, while the cleric washed over the wounds of the fighters.

The dark mage stood in the middle of it all, hands disappearing into his robes.

"This is wrong," murmured Malaka, gripping Hound loosely. "Jezz…we have to stop this!"

"How do you suggest we do _that_?" snarled the patron. "Obviously, someone in our own House has an agenda outside of my own!"

"Someone with power." Malaka looked to Jezz for confirmation, expecting to be accused. _End it all._

"Tebryn, it has to be Tebryn. He begged out of this meeting to begin fortifying the ruins of Minauthkeep, but he must have known that they would sense his deception…"

_No!_ Malaka almost screamed, revealing his sins. Jezz knew it was common knowledge that Malaka did not think the Auzkovyn should be permitted to remain so close to the Jaelre; he viewed them as a threat. Yet no one had made the connection, simply because he wasn't a decision maker, a mover and shaker, a leader. Tebryn was. Malaka was torn –die in disgrace and let the dream of Vhaeraun's Kingdom go forward without him. All he had to do was reveal his thoughts, his doubts. Or…

"Hold the combat," he begged Jezz. "We'll give them Tebryn, as a sign of our friendship. You're a charismatic figure, Jezz, and someone to be feared and respected throughout this entire forest. You can convince them." Jezz looked at his assassin in askance, but raised sheathed his kukri and raised both arms in truce. Lightning flashed above and revealed the drow male fully, standing like a god in the middle of a battlefield.

"Hold!" he cried, his voice carrying the weight of a magical command. All movement ceased, but the rain pattered on, horribly loud and smelling of acid. "Hold, Auzkovyn cousins. Save your strength for your real enemies." The Auzkovyn made no moves to put away their blades, and Valk was motionless in front of them. "We've…we've isolated the traitor. The one who was not with us today. Tebryn Jaelre is planning something against you, cousins, we know it."

"So it's true!" screamed the Auzkovyn mage, stepping forward, darkfire curling about his fist. Bela gave a cry of denial and summoned up her own power, turning the rain to ice about her, moving to stand besides Jezz, while Malaka hovered in the shadow of the sorcerer.

"Don't give in to them," she pleaded, hate and worry in her eyes.

"Who else, Bela?" laughed Jezz bitterly. "Who else? You wonder why he's avoiding the Auzkovyn? It's not to fortify Minauthkeep, for sure." Jezz turned back to the battle ready forces in front of him. "Cousins," he said, "I meant everything I said. You know that Vhaeraun had a dream for us, a plan for his empire. Five hundred years ago, when we were driven forth by the Baenre, we knew it. But some of us have never accepted the greater bonds we can forge between ourselves on the surface. Tebryn is one of those." Jezz was improvising, and he knew it. The Jaelre leaders knew Tebryn had no problems with the Auzkovyn, at least none that he had shown. "I truly was not aware of Tebyrn's betrayals, but I was made aware by your own mage's foresight, and my own assassin's words." He stepped aside to show Malaka to the Auzkovyn. "A wiser man than Tebryn, surely."

"Everyone has their secrets," said Valk, yet the words seemed to be aimed directly at Malaka.

"What will you do about this?" hissed the mage.

"Simple, Gazraen," said Jezz. "We will sacrifice Tebryn and appoint a new leader." Jezz stepped back and looked at Malaka, who started. "Our revered assassin."

"I…is this…wise?" the startled assassin said. "I am no leader-"

"Master Malaka has trained and led our assassins and agents for years upon years. He will be an asset to both of us. One of the Four on our side." Jezz smiled. "And one of the Eight on the council of our new kingdom. Won't the spider kissers love that?" Even the hostile Auzkovyn laughed at the irony of that number. It was appealing, certainly. Valk made no noise whatsoever, just stood like a statue in between the two sides. Malaka mirrored him. At that moment, there was this deep, dark bond between the two, something neither of them understood in full, something that only they were privy to, some manipulation of secrets and responsibility for this situation that they were responsible for.

It faded in a heartbeat.

"We'll return to Minauthkeep and bring Tebryn's body to you," said Jezz. "And then, we will discuss what should have been discussed here, without threats of treachery and lies. This may sound like I have lost my mind, but we need a deeper bond than the way we typically deal with each other. We need...trust. That is why I am willing to kill my ally and a favored child of Vhaeraun. You should all note this; this alliance is no trivial matter to me."

"What will confirm that you killed Tebryn and not some minor lackey?" hissed the female warrior.

"Use any number of spells, follow us into Minauthkeep, do the deed yourself…any number of options, Ginsagne," said Jezz. "Dark deeds, Auzkovyn cousins. Soon to be brothers."

"Dark deeds. We'll await your signal." Gazraen undoubtedly would bring a full murder squad next time they met, just to guard against Jaelre treachery. Malaka made a note in the back of his mind to bring in Adenal; he wanted his own full team of murderers there. He wondered briefly how the elf was doing until the current situation took over again.

"Come on." Something pulled on his arm –Bela. Malaka's eyes met Valk's, yet he saw no trace of crimson in them, only utter darkness. Then the rain increased in volume and noise, and all but hid the shadow from the assassin's eyes. As he stepped back from the clearing, Malaka knew that nothing had been resolved, truly, not even by allowing one of his compatriots to die in his place. There was something here, some deed darker than even Vhaeraun's shadow, and he knew that at the heart of it all lay the shadow and the assassin. This was no conclusion, no dénouement, not even a climax.

No. Everything had just begun.


	6. Shadowman

**A/N **I have to apologize for the short, actionless chapter, but it kinda explains some things that may prove important in the future. Sorry! Promise blood and guts next chapter, as well as some odd magics and histories.

**Chapter Six **_Shadowman_

Malaka stared at Hound, embedded deep in Tebryn's back, and wondered what it would be like to feel it slide through his own form. Certainly no one would stop him; the war room was empty save for the corpse on the table map, and the assassin behind him. The sword had taken the Patron from the back, sliding through his elven cloak, black leather armor, elven chain, skin, muscle, bone, and heart. He hadn't had any time to even reach for the two Cormanthyrian elfblades at his hips .A perfect strike from the shadows; Tebryn didn't even know he was dead –until he was, of course. Usually, Malaka took a small bit of pride in his attacks, but this time, it was different. This time, another drow had died for a treachery (_was it a treachery?_) that was his to bear. In the night below, they would have congratulated him. In the faith of Vhaeraun, it was what it was. Treachery.

Treachery, while useful against their enemies, was _not_ encouraged inside the House.

Malaka had been the one to suggest a surprise attack to Jezz. After all, Tebryn was a fighter, and might break free of some of their spells and binds. A clean assassination would be much more efficient, would conserve more energy and blood. Of course, the fact that this way no one would ever find out that Tebryn was clueless about thoughts of treachery against the Auzkovyn weighed into his suggestion as well. Yet Malaka felt…bad. There was no other way to say it. There was no reason for him to slay the Patron, especially not at a time when someone like him would have been so, so useful.

The door to the war room opened, and the three leaders of House Jaelre –_other_ three –stepped in. Thin Nurkinyan was looking worse for wear, dressed in a red and black jacket and wearing a ceremonial veil over the lower half of his face to complement the half mask over the top. The priest had shaved off his hair, save for a short braid dangling from the back. Jezz was flushed, in contrast. The relatively young drow seemed excited and tense at the same time, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Bela was animated as well, her blue-black robes loosely tied around her lissome form, hair freely falling to the small of her back, and an orange crystal staff in her left hand. Her red eyes were practically glowing with glee.

"You've done it," she said, gesturing at Tebryn with her staff. Her previous reluctance to kill one of their own seemed to have evaporated. "The traitor bastard is dead." Malaka said nothing, just bowed his head. "Oh, speak _up_! You're one of us now."

"She's right," said Nurkinyan, voice muffled. "I communed with Vhaeraun just now. House Jaelre is in his favor, as is House Auzkovyn. There will be no more problems between us. You've solved them, and deserve to be where you are. The Masked Lord smiles upon you, Master assassin. " Somehow, the assassin doubted that. His mind flashed back to Valk, standing in the rain, a secret smile on his face and a secret shadow cast by his soul. Oh, there were going to be _problems_, all right…

Malaka just slid Hound from Tebryn's body. "What do we do now?" he asked simply, wiping the sword on his fellow dark elf's body.

"You have to have a better mindset than _that_ if you plan to lead," said Bela as they walked towards the assassin.

"I didn't plan to lead," retorted Malaka.

Jezz frowned. "There are not many people more suited to the task. It does not mean that you will not still complete your previous duties. I still lead raiding parties on the Dales, just like I did before I was chosen by Tzirik to help rule." Nurkinyan's father Tzirik had been the previous ruling force in House Jaelre, but he had been slain years ago by spider kissers. A good man, uniting his House, but his son had to delegate power to three others just to maintain a hold. Perhaps it was a sign that House Jaelre was not meant to stand much longer. "A Master assassin will be a good thing to have on the ruling force."

Malaka was silent for a while, and just nodded to the drow standing around the table. He was in Tebryn's spot; the realization hit him. "We should do something with…that," he said. Bela swiftly crossed over to the doors and talked to the guards outside –in moments, Jeyrr bounded in energetically, grabbed the body, and hauled it away, leaving a trail of blood heading out of the war room. Crossing his arms low, his right hand slipping down to stroke Hound's hilt, Malaka appraised his fellows.

"I will arrange another meeting with House Auzkovyn," stated Jezz. "With Tebryn's confirmed death, perhaps that shadow mage will shut up and let us plant how to survive."

"What if he decides that the shadows have spoken to him again? What if he singles out another one of us as a betrayer?" said Malaka. _Me_. "It could be a massive act."

"My truth spells revealed he was telling no lies. The shadows came to him, and told him that the Jaelre plotted against the Auzkovyn. Unless some of us _are_ actually plotting against the Auzkovyn?" Nurkinyan swept his hawklike gaze across the table.

That was the thing. Malaka didn't know whether what he had planned was really a _plot_, more like a precaution. It didn't make any sense for a drow like Valk to be that displeased over a precaution. Again, he got the sense that there was something else maneuvering around here. Or maybe Tebryn really was a traitor. And if so, the assassin was secretly a Harper agent who spent his nights fighting for hours on end, saving the lives of the innocent, and tenderly making love to willing buxom damsels at dawn.

Malaka laughed. Bela and Jezz laughed with him, and eventually Nurkinyan contributed a chuckle as well.

Bela shifted her staff. "Jezz and I have better news. The shadowman is back, and waiting for us to meet with him. We can hammer out an agreement, and finally learn his magics in full. Hopefully, we'll be able to throw back the paleskins with their power."

_Throw back an army of thirty thousand with a little new magic? _"Where is he?" said Malaka, more than curious to meet this 'shadowman'.

Bela pointed with the pulsing staff. "Waiting outside. I left him with Jeyrr…that should make him annoyed enough to _give_ us his shadow magic freely." _Shadow magic_. That term again. Something about those words didn't seem right to Malaka, as if it disrupted the very Weave that he wielded. Valk's shadow magic, the shadowman's shadow magic. Bela was desperately excited –for years she had tried to unravel the mysteries of the mythals and _ar'selu'tel'quess_, high magic, and failed for the most part. She was clinging onto this new form of power like a drowning sailor clings onto their raft. "I'll get him?"

"Please." Nurkinyan was the only one of them that didn't show any emotion –Jezz was as excited as Bela, and Malaka was radiating cold hostility through flaming eyes.

Bela escorted the dark figure into the room. The faerie fire that flickered over them all did little to illuminate the darkness that was the shadowman. The shadowman's black robes flowed about him, and his skin indeed did give off peeling strands of shadow. He was completely bald, and his yellow eyes stared out from deep within the darkness. He carried no weapons, but Malaka sensed that this was a man who was more dangerous than anyone else he had ever met. Bela took her place at the table, and the Four turned to face the shadowman, who stood in front of them. The shadowman swept his gaze over them all, and lingered on the assassin.

"I take it Lord Tebryn is no longer with us?"

"He was a traitor," said Jezz. "This is Lord Malaka."

That didn't sound right. "_Master_ Malaka," the assassin corrected, "who is only a temporary member here." That earned him glares from the other three, but Malaka would stand by that statement. He felt a chill akin to the elven female wizard's spell that had cut to his soul when those sickening yellow eyes settled on the assassin. They seemed to stare at him forever.

The shadowman bowed. "Master Malaka, then. A pleasure. _I_ am what you and your friends have termed the 'shadowman'."

"And you have no other name?" The assassin's posture was tense, his right glove squeezing Hound. Something about this person was off with his sense of the Weave.

"It is unimportant. Names are but glorified titles, like 'shadowman'. And after all, our true names are secret, even to us, unless you have the fortune to find it. And secrets are not to be divulged, are they?"

"I make it my job to find secrets, shadowman, and I kill people for them." Malaka's voice became a little heated, the ice dissipating under his fire.

"Enough!" said Jezz, frowning at his commoner counterpart. "We're not here to alienate the shadowman, just learn from him." The shadowman bowed to Jezz.

"My Princes send a message to you, an offer of mutual aid. The…annoyances in Myth Drannor may decide to move against us, now that they are gathering in full force. While we could descend to destroy them, we have other concerns at the moment. You would be most beneficial in quelling the threat from the elves to our east."

"How do we know you are not courting the elves as well? Playing…both sides?" said Malaka. The others shot him exasperated glares.

"We've had some dealings with the elves before," said the shadowman. "In Evereska. They were…unpleasant at the end. They would not deal with us; they view us as a scourge to be destroyed. Even now, as we speak, my spies inform me that Coronal Ilsevele Miritar sits on the head of a ruling council that courts the realms of Sembia and Cormyr into an alliance, as her prince-consort marches with a steadily growing army deeper and deeper into Cormanthyr, unopposed. Even without that strength, they can destroy you, but with two more nations under Myth Drannor's wing, they may even begin to annoy those whom I serve. Your kind of elf has proved…so much more amicable to us."

"Who do you serve, exactly? Who is 'us'?" said the assassin.

"Malaka!" hissed Bela, furious. "Quit your probing, do you _really _think we would have met with him if we thought we was a spy?"

The shadowman bowed. "It is all right. He is merely curious. I am a Netherese arcanist." _Netherese_. Malaka did not know anything about these Netherese, whoever they were. They had had no dealings in Cormanthyr before, to his knowledge. The shadowman cleared up nothing about who he was, as he likely intended. Very well. Malaka would just have to find out on his own. "It is no matter to the drow of House Jaelre; we do not spread out influence over your trees as of yet, so there is no reason for you to have known us."

"Of course," said Bela hurriedly. "Yet you said that you could teach us, yes? Your powers, your magics."

"Ahhh, yes. Our magic." The shadowman seemed to smile. "How did your travel experiment go?"

"It works wondrously," said Jezz.

"Good. And that is a mere taste of the power of the Shadow Weave." _This_ startled Malaka. _A Shadow Weave? Sounds like a creation of Vhaeraun's. Does this shadowman also serve the Masked Lord?_ "I have given this gift in free will to you, Jaelre mage, and another, an Auzkovyn mage." Malaka snapped his gaze to the Jaelre mage –Bela. She was using this magic? Magic similar to the Auzkovyn mage –Valk! Then why was Valk so much more powerful? And why hadn't he been informed. The master assassin felt more and more helpless with every heartbeat. This was not his job.

The shadowman went on. "I am willing to help you acquire more and more knowledge of the Shadow Weave. Alas, in this world we cannot give something for nothing, can we? In order for us to teach you this magic in what will hopefully be a long and profitable alliance, we need a gesture of good faith."

"We're strained as it is," said Nurkinyan through his clothed face. Malaka felt relieved. Someone else was on his side. "We're already scrambling to hold off the Army of Myth Drannor, a goal you stated as profitable for you, and we're doing it without the Auzkovyn, whom you're obviously courting as well. No, don't lie, shadowman, you can't in this room –my spells make sure of that. It will be better for our alliance that everything here stays in truth. What more do you _want_? I am not willing to send out more drow to die, not now, and not for you."

"You will do it for yourselves," said the shadowman, bowing to the Patron. "Do this small task for us, and we will grant you all the power you need. An alliance will be most profitable?"

"Alliance with whom?" The Patron crossed his arms, the gesture echoing Malaka.

The shadowman smiled, but Malaka also transfixed him with a stare, victorious. No matter how eager the two mages were to get their hands on shadow magic, there _were_ practical matters at hand. "The Empire of Netheril," the shadowman said finally, flatly.

"You must be rather far away. I've never heard of an Empire to our west, not by the name of Netheril."

"We're…currently in growth," said the shadowman, darkening. "You will hear of us soon, have no fear. Already, the whispers have begun amongst your paler friends. Yet we find associating with those similar to us…comforting."

"You propose an alliance? A treaty?" The Patron was in his element.

"I will," promised the shadowman. "But we have provided a gesture of good faith by teaching you the secrets of shadow travel." _And provided Valk Auzkovyn with a good deal more_, realized Malaka. A thought tugged at him, urgent –he needed to tell Nurkinyan. But it could wait. "We need a little something from you. You will understand, of course."

"Of _course_!" said Bela and Jezz."

"Of course…" said Malaka and Nurkinyan, almost like ghosts of the original statement.

"There are some ruins near Myth Drannor, ruins rumored to be filled with echoes of elven high magic. Also there is a parchment known as a nether scroll. The pale elves stole the scroll from Netheril, millennia ago, so they could learn their own high magics. The drow have never been able to work that magic because they never learned the secrets of the nether scroll." Malaka wasn't sure how much of that was true, but Bela was certainly taking the shadowman's word for it. "Recover the nether scroll, and we will teach you from it, teach you how to manipulate the Shadow Weave in such a way that you will be able to do much more than merely travel the Fringe. You will be able to lock entire armies away in shadow, manipulate the night to bring you strength, even…" he smiled, "even build something akin to your own mythal. A shadow mythal, we should say. The Shadow Mythal of Minauthkeep, how does that sound?"

Exciting, that's how it sounded, but was any of it true?

"Where is the ruin?" asked Bela.

"And why can't _you_ go get it?" said Malaka.

The shadowman moved over to the map and drew a tiny shadow circle dangerously close to Myth Drannor. "The ruins of Fhaldanfast," he said. "Created in the days when the pale elves were at war with my people. They created powerful barriers against shadow magic –hence, we cannot function there properly. And it is a dangerous area, inhabited by demons and devils of many kinds, as well as…other things. We cannot risk being known by the pale elves as being in their Empire, much less be killed by the guardians of the keep."

"But we can be risked," said Malaka wryly.

"If you are truly capable, and worthy of the Shadow Weave, you will not be harmed." The shadowman smiled benevolently. "Retrieve the nether scroll for us. You will not be able to decipher it, but we will, and we will teach you how to. Both of us can only benefit from this alliance. Once the scroll is in our hands, we will have a more concrete agreement. Accepted?"

"Accepted!"

"_Accepted_."

"Accepted."

"Fine."

The shadowman smiled at irate Malaka. "Good. I will return in one day." He turned to leave, offering his arm to Bela. "If you would show me out, noble lady?" Bela beamed and grabbed the shadowman eagerly.

Malaka tensed at that. "You have too many secrets, shadowman."

As he left, the shadowman turned to look at the assassin one more time, and this time, he could see nothing of his yellow eyes, just darkness. Like Valk's eyes.

"Everyone has their secrets." Valk's words, the _exact _words! Malaka was knocked off balance. And then the shadowman left, a cloaked darkness drawing Bela deeper and deeper into the umbral fold. Never had Malaka felt this kind of uneasy rage, but now he did, unsure of what to feel. As soon as the shadowman had left, Malaka whirled to face Nurkinyan.

"The man lies!"

"Calm down, assassin. Maybe putting you on this council wasn't a good idea after all," said Jezz.

"No, you have to listen. You put me on here to hear my voice, so damn you, hear it! The shadowman you are listening to –I don't know his empire, but I do know that he is more dangerous and untrustworthy than a drow. Remember Valk? His _shadows_ that told him what he knew?"

"The shadowman will help us build a _mythal_, he said," said Nurkinyan. "A wondrous achievement. As a Weave wielder, you should appreciate that."

"I am not that in tune with magic," said Malaka. "Nurkinyan, I think you should consult with Vhaeraun with this."

"I've communed with him once today. He will not grant me his blessing again until this night. And we need to go recover this scroll quickly if we are to gain their shadow magic before the Army of Myth Drannor is upon us."

Malaka shook his head. "I'll go, not us. This is not a time for all the leaders of this House to be slain in a mishap or trap, or by the elves of Myth Drannor. Stealth is required."

"I go with you," said Jezz. "I'm an experienced raider, I can be stealthy." He looked to Nurkinyan for acceptance, and the priest nodded.

"And I go as well. You need a healer," said the Patron.

"No, and no. Jezz, you have quickly become a might spellcaster, but you are also the most famous leader of this House. You cannot be risked. And Nurkinyan, we are running dangerously low and clerics. If you _happen_ to fall, what is to prevent power hungry individuals outside of the family from taking power? This new cleric, Malvag, for instance –wandering the woods with no purpose. A scary creature. What if he arrives? Both of you stay here. I'll go."

"You cannot do this alone, and we need to succeed. We don't have the _time _for a second chance. More people are needed."

"I have a plan. I'll use Adenal, one of our elven converts. Already, he is eager to go to Myth Drannor in Vhaeraun's name, almost as much as I wish to go." _And destroy the faeries, but that may not be Adenal's goal._ "He'll be our cover story in case we get caught. I have it all figured out."

"Two assassins, one in training, are not enough to battle demons, devils, and ancient elven magics. You need a mage," said Jezz.

"I'll take Bela. She knows more about high magic and ancient powers than anyone else in the compound. Most useful if we are going to ancient ruins fortified with said magic. If we can get in. It's a shame Ti'rak and Sheer are already out, they're the stealthiest in Minauthkeep save myself, and Adenal. I swear the surface elf is going to be better than us all someday. Perhaps I can borrow Jeyrr; he was a promising young drow."

"Take him. You'll need everyone you can get. Don't wait; we've already started calling together all eight thousand warriors of Jaelre. Your assassin's are out to contact the Auzkovyn?

_A little more than that. Actually, they're inciting them to be fodder_._ Weakening them while strengthening them._ "Yes."

"Good. Then the Auzkovyn will be prepared when we propose a treaty. We need to hit these elves on the field of battle sooner rather than later."

Malaka paused, remembering what he had wanted to tell the Patron while the shadowman was here. "Nurkinyan…remember your truth spells in the clearing?"

"Yes?"

"What did Valk say again?"

"He said the shadows have told him about the Jaelre betraying him. Why?"

The more and more Malaka thought about his 'betrayal', the less and less of a betrayal it had seemed. "I think," he said quietly, staring at where the shadowman had been standing, "we should be asking ourselves…which shadows?"


	7. Fhaldanfast

**A/N **I'd like to just thank you guys for reviewing. I know that I'm not likely to get that many reviews if I write at this pace but this is a long, long story and it's going to slow a lot now that the semester is starting. I'm going to address your comments at the end to save space up top.

**Chapter Seven **_Fhaldanfast_

The rain had let up by nightfall, and the clouds parted to let moonlight into the Elven Court, filtered through the shadowtops. Malaka walked outside Minauthkeep, accompanying Adenal. The pale elf was eager and tense, Tebryn's Cormanthyrian elfblades belted onto his hips, wearing enchanted leather and a typical thin elven cloak, dark and shifting with the background. Adenal pushed some locks of long, raven hair from his pale blue eyes. The moon elf was smiling though, pleased to finally be on a mission to help Vhaeraun. But Malaka noted the strain of the smile, the wariness around his eyes, and the doubt in his step. He would watch Adenal Cadab very closely when near Myth Drannor, that was a fact.

Malaka was clad as usual, ever ready, but Bela and Jeyrr looked a little different as they waited for the assassins outside. The wizardess, animated and bouncing on the balls of her feet, wore a set of robes a little too small for her, reaching barely past her elbows and knees –but they were useful, blending into the background even better than the cloaks of the others. She had to leave the robes open in front, showing off a thin feywoven shirt and tight black breeches, similar to those of Vhaeraunian clergy. Around a dozen wands and rods were stuck in her belt.

Poor Jeyrr was carrying her duffel bag, staff, and spare spell components on his back, bent slightly under the weight. Seeing how the bags were enchanted to hold an unusual amount of things and still weight about the same, Bela must have packed her entire laboratory into them. She didn't get out much.

Jeyrr grimaced hello at Malaka and Adenal, though his eyes were shaded by the black half mask he wore. Malaka covered his mouth with his right hand to try and stop from laughing. This was their sneaking team. Fun. However burdened Jeyrr was, Malaka was sure that he would be a valuable addition to their team. An assassin in training, a warrior chosen to guard the war room, and a cleric, as evidenced by the mask, was an asset anywhere. If he could have learned arcane powers, Jeyrr wouldn't need anyone else to go with him on this mission. The multitasking drow tried to straighten for his former master, failed, and sunk back down again, pulling his cloak over his shoulder to hide his leather cuirass and silken black garb, all taken from a spider kisser. His two short swords slapped against his legs softly as he moved.

"Dark deeds," he greeted them, and Adenal copied him.

"Dark deeds," he received in response from a gasping Jeyrr, though Bela didn't respond to the phrase, most likely dreaming about that damned _shadowman_ and his damned _shadow weave_. "Shadows embrace…us all, Master!"

"Right. We can only hope." Malaka sighed and looked up. Yet another mission, sneaking form Minauthkeep in the dead of night. All of his tasks were blurring together now. This was just another one. Except they would be drawing dangerously close to Myth Drannor this time. Myth Drannor, where Malaka wanted –_needed_ –to go. Needed to visit the souls of his dead, needed to right the wrongs performed on that fateful day. "We have a long way to go –I'd suggest we use one the red road to get as far as we can, and from there, teleport behind the lines of-"

"Oh, the shadowman thought of that. It's not necessary," said Bela. A fiery flash of irritation hit Malaka.

"Really? So we're walking, then?"

"Calm down, Malaka, he just gave me a better way to get to Fhaldanfast." She produced a black scroll, upon which odd white chalk writings were inscribed. "The shadowman taught me how to read this scroll. It's a version of the standard teleporting spells that we all use, I think."

"You _think? Think?_ This is _not_ a time to _think_!" hissed Malaka. Adenal put a hand on his Master's shoulder, and Jeyrr just gave him a bewildered look.

"I said calm, assassin," Bela said coldly. "Yes, I think. I don't trust the shadowman completely, I'm not that much of a fool. Yet, it seems similar enough to our own spells, except it uses this Shadow Weave. I've copied the scroll and the House mages are deciphering the languages and doing research on this Netheril as well. We can use this to get to Fhaldenfast directly, it's attuned to go straight there. And _this_ one," she produced another scroll, "will get us back. I think. _Don't_ say anything, Malaka."

The assassin said nothing, just fumed. Bela nodded approvingly. "Great. Now, gather around. I don't want to leave some of you behind, or your essential parts." The males all switched looks, not moving. Experimental magic. Not an attractive option.

"Or you could follow our Master assassin here and walk."

The males trudged forward, huddling close to Bela. Jeyrr adjusted his stance, and the staff on his back swung and hit Adenal in the temple, knocking him into Malaka, who crumpled like parchment. _I really should work on those muscles_, he thought as Adenal apologized and pulled him up. _Sweet Masked Lord, the wizardess and the assassinling are both stronger than me, aren't they?_ Malaka cursed softly at that fact of life as Bela chanted in a strange, flowing tongue. To her credit, she did not stumble once in her recitation.

There was no crack of teleportation, no sudden hurling movement. One beat they were standing in the shadows of the ruins of Minauthkeep, the next they were standing in the shadows of the ruins of Fhaldanfast. Startled at the sudden changes, the drow fell back, weapons coming out, sweeping their gazes over their surroundings. Malaka saw a thick forest all around them, though a pale light in the distance may have been Myth Drannor. Or perhaps the Army of Myth Drannor. Slowly, he turned around, in a battle crouch. Fhaldanfast was a huge stone tower, at least five hundred feet tall, lacking a keep or wall. Like Minauthkeep, Fhaldanfast was subtly covered in vines and had holes in the stones, though they were far more obvious here than in the mighty Jaelre compound. There seemed to be life all around them, but not right next to the tower.

Adenal was watching it all with almost shining eyes, a glimmer of pride in his eye. Malaka admitted the faerie tower was once a mighty thing, but he didn't like the look in his surface compatriot's eyes. "Let's go," he said, "while it's still dark. I don't want Jeyrr to die when the sun comes up." Jeyrr nodded in agreement vigorously. The warrior spent all his time in the dark –even the torches in House Jaelre hurt his eyes.

"We should be cautious," said Adenal. "Aside from the devils and demons you talked about, there's going to be traps, right?"

"Traps and other surprises your ancestors rigged up for us," said Malaka.

"And adventurers," groused Jeyrr. "There's always adventurers in old ruins like these."

"Don't be silly, Jeyrr," said Bela. "The only people in this forest are elves, and any elven adventurers are likely to be whooping and dancing in Myth Drannor. There're no elves, and certainly no adventurers in Fhaldanfast."

0o0

"Araevin, will you _stop_ being such a _male_ for an instant and admit we're lost?" groused Maresa, fingering her crossbow.

"We are _not_ lost," the celestial sun elf informed the white skinned genasi. His magical orb of light illuminated her dark crimson attire perfectly, including that garishly brimmed hat which hid some of her silver hair, which always moved as if there was a breeze nearby, though there were no breezes in Fhaldanfast.

"Actually," piped up Nesterin cheerfully, "I'm going to admit it. We're lost!" The red haired bard thought he could make a wonderful song out of it, reaching into his pack for paper and ink. The star elf seemed positively jovial about it.

Jorin Kell Hathran did not. His olive, studded armor creaked as the half elf adjusted the two short swords on his belt. "We could just leave, you know. I don't want to trigger any more ancient elven golems of war; remember the last place filled with lost elven arcana? This place looks worse."

"Yes," said Araevin, shrugging his scarlet cloak back to reveal his mithral shirt and his sword, Moonril, "but Ilsevele was told that there was a concentration of high arcana here –arcana that hasn't been touched in so long… It could help strengthen our mythal, our defenses. We need that magic."

"Who told her about this place again?" said Nesterin.

"Don't know…I wasn't there. She said it was a wood elf, because his skin was so dark."

"Wouldn't it be funny if he was a drow?" said Maresa.

"No," said Araevin. "That would most certainly _not_ be funny, because that would mean there were drow here. Regardless, she had her other mages cast a spell over him –he was no drow, and was no Weave user. Just a dark skinned elf ranger with stories to tell."

"We've already been through a lot of fighting with those outsiders," said Maresa. "I'm not sure how much more we can handle –or how much longer your holding wards can keep them from coming back. Didn't you say three hours or something?"

"Just a few more minutes," said Araevin. "We're not lost."

Maresa threw her hands up in the air and sighed. "Few more minutes. With our luck, you're going to be down here until the damned drow in the forest come to say hello."

0o0

"I'm sorry, Bela, but I have to ask –what's _in_ this thing?" Jeyrr sounded on the verge of crying, though no one would see it through his mask.

"Backups," the wizardess said primly, stepping over some acidic liquid. "Malaka, come here." The assassin appeared out of nowhere in front of them. "This looks fresh, doesn't it?"

"Fresh. Like the others up ahead." His normally quiet voice was even softer. "I'm not worried. Infernal creatures often fight each other, don't they?"

Bela nodded. "Especially if there are both demons and devils in this place. I wonder what binds them here?"

"_Ar'selu'tel'quess?_" said Malaka.

"Possibly." Bela's eyes flashed excitedly. "Imagine it, Malaka! We're finally close to finding the secrets I've looked for so long!"

"Shhh!" reproved all the males. The four were traveling in pure darkness, relying on their other spectrums of eyesight. In their blending cloaks and thin, fitted black leather outfits, they were but dull shadows moving in silence. Except when Bela tripped over something, or rambled excitedly over some rune that told the story of some paleskin wizard's mother. Malaka vanished back into the point guard position, eyes shifting to Adenal for a moment. The surface elf had cast a spell to let him see in the dark, even magical darkness, but he was using that spell to gaze at the faerie stronghold, a slow smile on his face.

"Adenal!" Malaka hissed the word, and made himself visible to the elf. He made the basic hand motions necessary, jabbing two fingers towards his eyes, and jabbing them towards the back of the party. "Stop staring, don't touch anything, and look behind us!" He turned to the rest of them. "And for the last time, _no more talking_. I want to get the jump on any guardians here." Malaka glanced at the rear guard again, worried. He was anxious about having Adenal here. This was a real test of his convictions.

The assassin crept on forward, unseen. They left the dark hallway filled with ruined statues and open books on pedestals they were in, and came to the spiraling main staircase. Dangerous. Enemies could be lurking around every turn. Instead of drawing Hound, Malaka quickly grew a sixth finger, eight inches long, made of sharp obsidian, and gleaming with devilseye contact poison. A far superior weapon in close quarters combat to the relatively long blade of Hound. Malaka paid no attention to the statues and carved pictures depicting ancient battles that lined the cramped staircase, just one what was up ahead. Honestly, this place was boring. He expected ancient ruins to be more exciting, especially as a holdfast for ancient magic.

For close to three hours they slipped into doors and hallways on different levels of the tower, admiring rusted golems, towering arches, angelic figurines, and shattered crystals. Curiously, there were no defenses. The shadowman apparently was wrong in his information. He was also wrong about there being ancient magic here. There was no scroll, anywhere they went. Bela was casting furiously, flipping through her spellbooks, throwing them at Jeyrr when they didn't help and snatching more from the packs on his back. "Aren't you glad I brought all these books?" she asked him charmingly. "So many different directional spells!"

"Most certainly, lady," he gasped. "A real asset."

Malaka appeared out of nowhere next to Adenal as the elf was reading an old book. On the page was the picture of a faerie maiden, laughing with a faerie lord –fey dancing in Arvandor, home of Corellon. Adenal felt a tug at his heat until his Master chose to make his presence known. The younger assassin started.

"You all right?" asked Malaka.

"Of course," said Adenal, closing the book. "Just…reading."

"We're not here to read, you know," said the assassin, eyes fixed on Adenal, who dropped his gaze.

"I know. I just…thought that maybe one of the books had a map of this place. So we could better find the chambers where real magic was stored."

Malaka said nothing, just scrutinized Adenal. The way he scrutinized his enemies before delivering one stroke, just _one_ stroke, that robbed them of life. Adenal nervously looked at the glistening dagger strapped to Malaka's wrist. The assassin snapped it out in a flash, and Adenal winced –and felt nothing. Something was tapping against his sword hilts.

"Good blades, aren't they? Old Cormanthyrian," said Malaka. "Stay on guard, in case you have to use them. Just because we haven't seen any outsiders doesn't mean that the devils aren't lurking around the corner." The assassin vanished, leaving Adenal thoroughly shaken.

Malaka was musing on the subject of the faerie when he noticed something extremely odd. There was a glyph hovering in midair, glowing, fresh, ready, to his left. Behind it was another staircase, more cramped, but it led straight up to…someplace. "Bela," he called. "What is this?"

Bela and Jeyrr came hurrying up, a spellbook tucked under one arm of the wizardess and a wand stowed behind her left ear. Bela's eyes widened. "That's new!" she exclaimed, and everyone shushed her. "I can tell. Older glyphs fade a little, but that one looks like it's just been cast. Perhaps those devils and demons are closer than we think."

"Do you know any specific types of outsiders that can cast that sort of magic?"

Bela whispered a spell, and then frowned. "What?" prompted Malaka.

"The glyph…it leads into a spellweb. A large series of interconnecting wards meant to seal off an area. The drow of the Underdark use them to block off their Houses."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that this is something no demon could pull off innately, nor any devil. They'd have to be accomplished mages to pull off something like this."

"A demon wizard. This is great. This is just great." Malaka clenched his left hand. "We need to get out of here before-"

"No. Not without that scroll." Bela turned away from the rune, stopping her study of the interlocking wards right before she would have reached the rune that gave off a clear sign that the spell was meant to keep demons and devils _out_, and therefore must have been cast by a mortal. _And_ the rune that showed how much time was left on the glyph, which wasn't much. But arguing with Malaka on this matter was more important. "We need it."

"Perhaps it's up those?" said Malaka, pointing to the stairs. He was in no mood for arguing, it seemed.

"Why not?" said Jeyrr. "More stairs. Why ever not?"

"Let's go, then. Malaka, after you," said Bela with a grin. Malaka sketched a quick, sardonic bow, and slipped forward into the shadows. Everyone trudged up after him, Jeyrr nearly hitting the ward with Bela's staff on his back. Adenal cast a forlorn glance at the room, and on an impulse, rushed up and snatched up the book he was reading before he followed the others up the stairs.

Not long after, the rune winked out.

0o0

_Someone's here_, signed Malaka. The assassin was no tracker, but the signs of obvious entry were all over the place –mostly in the form of dusty footprints. They were very light, though, as if the people who had been doing to stepping were light-footed. _Faeries_.

_Where?_ signed Bela.

_In front. I don't know exactly._ Malaka crept forward on the rotted carpet, wristblade at the ready. The portraits of the various elven lords seemed to leer at him as he moved, damning him like their god had done millennia ago. The musty smell assailed his senses, but Malaka tried to keep a clear head. Slipping up against a wall, the assassin peered around the corner. Nothing obvious. Turning fully, he came face to face with a white skinned, white haired woman in red.

The both yelped, and Malaka stabbed forward with his dagger, but barely managed to land a scratch. The woman also took advantage of his shock and drew a rapier, but it was a clumsy weapon in such close quarters, and all she could do was slash. Unfortunately for her, a rapier is most certainly _not_ a slashing weapon, and the beating she administered with the blade did little except make Malaka back away, raising his hands to ward off the scratching blows, his gloved hands bloody with the occasional scored hit of the weapon.

He jumped back and shouted as the female did the same. The pale woman stabbed forward with the rapier, but Malaka parried with the wristblade and fired his concealed dart with his right hand, yet the woman twisted and it flew harmlessly past _three_ more elves, two of them chanting something while running while the third yelled and came on with twin swords.

Malaka was fast enough to reflexively catch the rapier in his left hand, but this was really, really dumb, as he realized a second after he did it. The woman yanked the blade back, opening up a pair of huge gashes on the assassin's hand.

It gave him time to draw Hound though, and just as the green armored ranger was on him, Jeyrr came aside to flank him. He had lost all those packs and the staff, and he rushed at the half elf, blades flying. Again, the rapier flew at him, but Malaka was just as fast as the scarlet woman, and batted aside the strikes, launching a furious set of riposte slashes that never landed. The woman's attacks increased as if by some spell –_those damned other faeries_ –and a burst of prismatic light flew at him. Malaka threw himself to the side, but two or three rays still slammed into him, sending him flying into the picture of a haughty elf lord, his side smoking. The red woman stuck him again with the rapier, and then she was gone, hurled back by a blast of lightning.

Bela came around the corner firing her want, hurling lightning energy without abandon. One of the elven casters wove another spell and sent the blasts flying harmlessly away, while the other drew a blade and slunk in to help with the half elf fighting Jeyrr. The mage shouted some instructions that Malaka couldn't make out –he seemed to be the controller of the party. The two wizards squared off, Jeyrr was furiously fighting his opponent while another elf sang healing songs, and Malaka scrambled away, pursued by that devil-woman in red, poking him with the rapier occasionally. For one brief moment, Malaka thought he saw Adenal staring at the battle, but he had to return to the more important game of keep-the-rapier-away-from-my-ass.

There was little way he could fight an experienced duelist like this. But Malaka had an advantage –he could cheat. Having refreshed on his spells, he chanted out something really quickly and disappeared into a door. The woman in red whirled, obviously thinking that the drow thought that teleporting behind her would be the most devious choice, and therefore it was what he was going to do.

The flash of light appeared above her head, and Malaka tumbled down from the ceiling, a surprise attack slicing out the back of the woman's hamstring. She shrieked she went down. Malaka stood over her, bleeding from all the rapier hits, and raised Hound, grinning. There was no escape –she would die.

And then a huge pair of pincers appeared from behind the drow. The closed. And the thin assassin was swept off his feet, yelling for his compatriots, his sword dropped, and he was whisked into the ceiling. There was a sickening crack, and then another, followed by a scream louder than anything before.

Two demonic eyes stared down at the woman in red. "You're next," said the glabrezu.

0o0

Bela knew she was outmatched the moment she faced this mage. He was something else. Her wand had no use against him –none of them would, would they? –and so she had dropped it, drawing on her spellcasting powers. Malaka didn't know it, but the shadowman had taught her so much more than she let on; she said nothing because his reaction would have been terrible. The assassin didn't take changes too well, and he'd blow everything out of proportion.

The mage finished casting before her, drawing on the proper Weave, and sent an icy storm raging towards her. One of her favorite spells, yet it had a devastating effect on Bela, hurling her back against the wall like Malaka had been a moment ago. She gasped out the final words of her spell and shadowy tentacles sprang out beneath the wizard, grabbing him and pulling at him. But in a flash of golden light, they were gone, and she was temporarily blinded. It had a far worse effect on Jeyrr, who screamed and dropped his swords at the sudden light.

Bela called upon one of her greater spells, and sent a magical sword to harass the elven mage after sending a bolt of lightning through every enemy in the room, from the two elves harassing Jeyrr to the red clad woman ogling at the glabrezu demon.

_Glabrezu demon?_

The elven mage hadn't noticed yet; he was busy with her sword, and shattered it soon. The drow female snapped her attention back just in time to weave a counterspell that was only half effective against the three beams of white light that scythed through her body, leaving her weak. As she rose, something struck her on the head, and a blade nicked her throat. She heard and felt hot breath on her neck. "Don't move, Bela," said Adenal in a shaky voice. "I know what I'm doing. I'm going to have to-"

"Bastard!" she screamed, yet could do nothing against the blade. A sickening plan came to mind –let the demon handle him, and then she would break free. They were no match for these elves, obviously. She'd find Malaka first –he wasn't a leader, but a very handy asset. She only laughed when Adenal grunted and was ripped away from her. Something ripped and tore, but the elf gave a warcry and fought back against his infernal captors.

_Infernal captors?_

The other elves had noticed as well, except for a blind and stumbling Jeyrr, who was summarily knocked out by the half elf. Three legion devils, horned, green skinned creatures in black plate and holding longswords, fought with Adenal, who spat. "Bela!" he screamed. "Help! I was trying to-" A blade lanced through him, and he leapt free, bleeding. Cursing and incanting, Adenal disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The glabrezu trampled over the wounded female, ripping into the devils. Something flying hit Bela over the head on it's way to engage the legion devils, and she fell to the ground, on her hands and knees. Everyone was screaming, chaos was everywhere. No spells came to mind to help her in this.

And then the elven mage was in front of her, and something blasted her world away. She had the dim feeling of being picked up, and the world spun as they teleported away. The last thing she saw was the glabrezu retreating to its own plane, grabbing the now-limp woman in one pincer and a broken dark form in another. And then it all went away.

0o0

**Lady Fellshot** I'd like to say oops on the whole Fflar thing. That's just sloppy. And on Adenal living with the Jaelre –I haven't read that sourcebook, and wish I had. It sounds like it had information on the drow in Cormanthyr, and I could really use that. Care to tell me the name? I'm trying to cover up that blunder by saying that no one really trusts the elf, least of all Malaka, as evidenced in this chapter.

Malaka probably should have gotten his team out of there, but this is why Tebryn is in charge of swords and he's not. Must have gotten swept up in all that combat, or maybe Sarya scared the living daylight night out of him and made him charge. Not a very charismatic fellow, our Malaka. I was thinking of statting him DnDwise a little while ago, if you're familiar with that (and I did go out and pick his spells with that system), and I figure Malaka to be something like really high in Dexterity (not as high as an epic level Fflar though) and somewhat high in Intelligence (nowhere near a wizard's intelligence), but really, really low in everything else –I'll even go with negatives in Strength, since its obvious he's weak.

I guess chapter 3 could have done with a lot less description, but I felt the urge. Sorry if it was a bit boring. There will be plot in this one. And I'm not sure if Malaka's really that 'leet' of an assassin; everyone really respects him, and he is definitely good, but Entreri or Cale would surely rip him up and eat him. If he could find him. I'm also going to assume Malaka doesn't run around camp for more than 30 seconds –a lot of time, but hopefully with a lot of luck and a little skill that's why he's not dead with swarming elves all over him.

I have the feeling Malaka would be a really popular secondary character, if he just popped in and out occasionally, and no one ever gets inside his head. He loses novelty once you do, but is still fun to write. I hope you keep reading, and thanks for the critique (do you do beta work?).

**Darev** Lot's of familiar faces in this chapter, no worries there. Thanks for the warning about posting too fast. From here its days in between each. The answers to your questions will come in time, I hope. A quick break might give me the time to start on another fic –maybe Dragonlance this time, I have an idea for that, so if you read that series, come check it out if it ever goes up (this is my version of propaganda). In any case, I just have to look at the number of alerts, reviews, hits, and visitors for this story, and I feel kinda warm and fuzzy.


	8. Detour

**A/N** After a long hiatus and a semester of hell, I'm back. Ya-hoo. This is very short, but I just wanted to put something up there. More coming soon to a computer near you.

**Chapter Eight**___Detour_

Naked. Again.

That just plain old _sucked_.

Malaka managed to drag his weary, emaciated form to a sitting position. His legs simply refused to move. Through half-shut eyes, he managed to make out a rocky, red, featureless plain extending _on _and _on _and _on_ forever and ever and ever… A red sun hung torpidly above his head, gloomy as one of the condemned, grudgingly surrendering its light to this…

Abyss.

_I'm naked…in the Abyss._ Malaka frowned, brow creasing with a single line. _Naked…in the Abyss._ He was having a _serious_ problem ramming that thought through his skull.

"What the…?" Malaka whipped his head around at woman's airy voice. The pale, slender female was lying to his right, infuriatingly _still clothed_ in shades of red. Her weapons were gone, though. Malaka supposed his were too; after all, he was naked. In the Abyss.

A deep, rumbling laugh fell on the bewildered assassin from above like a torrent of acid rain. "Ah…my lovelies are awake, are they? So _cute_ together." The mocking imitation of a kind mother did not go over well with Malaka. His frown deepened. _This might be worse than being naked. In the Abyss. _Of course, that was if there actually _was_ anything worse than being…well, that.

The woman –_genasi_?- leapt to her feet, shouting something, but Malaka wasn't paying attention, because his eyes were as wide as the sun above (with roughly the same color) as he recalled exactly what had happened. _Tower. Magic. Scroll. Shadows? Elves. Elves! Damn elves. Demon? Damn. This demon. I hate demons. _But the strong feelings faded almost immediately. It all seemed…long ago, though. As if it didn't matter anymore.

The glabrezu, dripping with all sorts of strange fluids and snorting with laughter, landed directly in front of the assassin, shaking the ground. He tried to scramble up, but his legs shot screams of pain into his brain, and the dark elf collapsed, shaking.

"Shattered," wheezed the demon. "I barely had to twitch." It clacked its pincers together, and a guttural sound that might've passed for a laugh in Vhaeraun's worst nightmares escaped the beast's doglike maw.

Malaka stopped listening to the rest of the taunts, old habits returning with a vengeance. _Spells. Spells? No. I have no good spells. Nothing to defeat a glab with. And I'm naked. That's not helping. So all I'm left with is…_

He turned to the woman, who was staring in horror at the demon. "Pst!" hissed Malaka. He jerked his head towards the glabrezu. "Kill it!"

"_You _kill it," she retorted.

Malaka gestured at his body. "In case you haven't noticed…"

"There's nothing _to_ notice," she snapped at him irritably, and the assassin winced. _Ouch._

"Fine," he said with a huff. _I'll just have to do all of this on my own, then. Insolent bitch. _Of course, Malaka knew he was going to die. It didn't bother him. He was an assassin, expecting this outcome at every turn, knowing that someday his own shadows would catch up with him. _Better being sent to the Masked Lord's side than facing torture at this fat dog's pincers. _And so, Malaka closed his eyes, and incanted.

The glabrezu noticed what he was doing at the last minute, and jeered at the drow, but Malaka didn't notice. He was too deep in concentration.

A slim blue door opened in the air, right in front of him. Malaka couldn't drag himself to it, but he didn't need to; the assassin simply reached forward and stuck a finger into the dimensional door. There was a sucking noise, and he hurtled forward as fast as time and space could take him.

And appeared right where he wanted to. On the glabrezu's head.

The demon was too surprised to even do anything, merely ogling the bundle on its maw. Malaka met its eyes, shrugged lamely, and plunged a finger deep into one glowing red orb.

The dog demon howled in an insane fury, reeling back, mouth snapping desperately at Malaka, scratching the taut skin of his stomach, but the assassin was laughably _too close_ for the glabrezu to effectively lean down at sink its teeth in to, and the drow had a death hold on the insides of one ruined eye.

But it was not enough. As he'd known. The demon crushed one of Malaka's ankles in one of its pincers, and dangled the drow upside down in front of its slavering maw, growling. "I'm go- _uugh_."

That was as far as the glab got in its threat, for there was a red-clad woman attached to his back, arms squeezing about his throat. The creature's second pincer leapt up to its throat, trying to snag one of the genasi's arms. It opened its mouth to snarl some curse or the other, revealing a stereotypically rotten, pink maw filled with sharp, yellowed canines dripping with saliva.

Almost casually, Malaka leaned out, grabbed a tooth blackened with rot, and _yanked_. It came free with a snap.

A curiously high pitched yelp, not unlike a hound's, escaped the glab's throat. It finally managed to grab the genasi and hurl her away into the Abyss, but dropped Malaka carelessly as its normal hands went to its wounded mouth. Black blood poured from the wound the assassin had inflicted. Malaka lay discarded, underneath the demon. He looked up, and grinned as his expectations were confirmed.

He'd heard of evil Lolthite rituals involving glabrezu; female students would let themselves be taken by the demons, who would fill them with infernal seed. Malaka, being a student of logic, had surmised that the glabrezu were therefore…male. Lying underneath one, he could see he was right.

Raising the broken tooth in his hand, the assassin glanced at the sharp point, and surmised there was only one _logical_ thing to do. He plunged up.

The demon's scream was the most unearthly, pained thing Malaka could remember listening to, like an orchestra of rotten, detuned instruments being flattened by an avalanche of glass. Black fluid drenched his hand, but Malaka gritted his teeth and held on, twisting his makeshift weapon. The demon convulsed, arms jerking and flailing this way and that. Finally, with a doglike whine, it toppled backwards, panting heavily.

Malaka dragged himself away from under the mess, covered in blood and liquid. But a pleased white grin adorned his face. _Ha. I _earned_ that title of Master. _

The glabrezu was still breathing, but it was motionless, likely in a stupor. Malaka nodded solemnly; he could easily understand why the demon was in that state. He also suspected that it wouldn't last. Grimly, he began to haul himself forward on his arms, going…wherever. Away from _here_.

"Is it dead?" The woman was back, stalking warily towards the demon's body.

"Absolutely not," said Malaka, wishing that he'd spent more time training with Tebryn. If he'd swung some swords a bit more often, perhaps his arms could've-

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Who cares? Away from here."  
"Yeah. Into another demon's cozy little home, maybe."  
Malaka sighed. "This is the Abyss, woman. A place of magic. If I somehow stumble upon a portal, I can use my own ability to open and operate it."

"And how do you plan to find a portal?"

Malaka shrugged, stopping his movement to turn on his back towards the pale woman. "I'll drag myself over one eventually?"  
"Wrong answer," she said. She eyed him with an expression of disgust in pale eyes. "It takes some _skill_ to find a portal."  
"I have…some skill."  
"Bet you I have more." She laughed. "I won't be seeing you again, drow."  
Malaka almost let her go, but a desperate idea came to him. "Wait! _Wait_, damn your pale skin." She stopped, eyebrows raised.

"Well? I _really_ don't have all day."

"You might be able to find a portal. But can you _use_ it?"

She shrugged. "I can use wands, scrolls. What's a portal to me?"  
Malaka laughed grimly. "Oh, much, much more. It would be hard to operate a normal portal, but _this_…this is the Abyss, and you're going to need a different breed of power to travel." _I have no idea if that's at all true, but let's see. _"Take me. You find a portal, I'll activate it, and we'll get out of here."

"You think I'm stupid? I've been to a place so full of portals not even your drow ego could match it in size."  
"And I'm betting you had a _mage_ open all of those."  
"I'm a good observer, and a quick learner."  
Malaka shrugged. "If you want to risk it. Fine. Go." He resumed dragging himself away.

"Wait."

Malaka grinned.


End file.
